Choice Of The Trees
by mistopurr
Summary: Greenwood the Great has ever been without a ruler until one family arrive in the forest and find themselves swept off their feet as a heavier burden than they could ever imagine is placed upon them. Featuring young Thranduil.
1. The Last Day

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters you recognise, but all OC's belong to me. I am not making any profit from this.

**Timeline: **This is the second instalment in a series revolving around Legolas and his family's history, set around II 770. It follows on from my first story, 'To Begin Again', and although there might be some minor references to previous events, you don't need to have read the other to understand this. There are also a few original characters in this story who were introduced in the first of the series, but the same thing goes for not having to read anything else in order to understand this one - unless you want to!

**Warnings: **None whatsoever for this story. I'm slowly but surely getting to the angst ridden stuff. Next story!

**Notes: **Not an awful lot to say here. I'm pretty much on schedule with my writing, and I've worked everything out so that I know what my deadlines are. This is a short story (3 chapters, it's already finished) and I will be posting every Friday until the end of the month, when I go on holiday for a while. I hope that people enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it, although I understand it's slightly different. Please give it a chance, though! Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through my last story. It has recently been nominated in the MPA awards in the Best Thranduil category, so fingers crossed I guess. And now on with the second instalment of my series!

**1**

_It was past__ midnight, and the forest of Greenwood the Great was alive. Under the wide, translucent face of Ithil and his lesser twinkling cousins, beneath thick boughs and luscious leaves of many verdurous hues there resounded the unmistakeable noises which announced an evening of merry making. Songs of joy, songs of sorrow, songs of mirth and many, many more were accompanied by the charming trills of a flute, the mournful thrum of a harp, the percussive rhythm of drums and bells; beautiful laughter burst forth from many lips as wine flowed and lovers danced and friends frolicked, joining with pleasant effortlessness into the ensemble as though it belonged there. High above, a giant predator of the forest, an eagle or a large owl, swept past the moon, its great wingspan casting a momentary shadow before it fell away to continue its hunt. The grand avian flight was noticed by few, and only one let his eyes follow the bird's journey over the trees and out of Elven sight. Even after it was long gone, he stared outwards from the marble balcony, gazing in silence at the night which hung so heavily for miles around. _

_Aside from the frivolity, all was silent. There stirred a soft breeze at intervals, hushed and barely perceptible; as it tugged at long tendrils of nightshade hair or the open robe worn loosely over dark leggings, like an insistent child, it found itself unwelcome. The Elf remained impassively heedless of the caressing touches upon him, uncaring of all around until, gentle upon the cool floor of the balcony came the silken tread of slippers which heralded a lady's approach. The flowery scent of rosewater drifted from her flawless skin, and as she wrapped her arms around the immortal's strong chest, she felt him draw it in with a soft sigh. Whether the noise was one of pleasure or otherwise, she could not guess, and pressed a kiss upon her husband's neck. _

"_I miss you," she breathed against him. "Long hours have passed since you left our bed."_

"_Sleep will not arrive," was the murmured response. "So I must occupy my mind."_

"_You came out here to think?"_

"_Nay. I came out here to wait."_

**PREVIOUSLY **

Sunlight filtered through the chinks of curtain shielding the window and birds greeted the brightness of morning with high pitched twitters of nonsensical sweetness, but Oropher did not rise from the comfort of his bed. He had heard the wooden door creak open and was well aware of the bare feet padding across the floor, yet he kept his eyes unfocused. An extra weight, barely felt upon the feather-down mattress, crawled up the bed towards the pillows, too far away from silent to be called inaudible. Still he lay in apparent slumber, putting all of his willpower into practice as strands of silken hair tickled his cheek.

"Ada," the newcomer whispered. "Ada, are you truly sleeping or just pretending? It is late. Nana wants you in the kitchen for breakfast. Ada? Ada!"

Oropher felt the huff of frustration as a sharp breath upon his skin, and knew in an instant what was coming next. Before his impatient son could blow in his ear, he launched himself upwards, grabbing the back of the boy's shirt and pulling the small body close. Laughter came out muffled against his chest, and he shifted slightly to pull the blankets over himself and his captive. "Got you," he murmured. "You are trapped now."

"Good morning, Ada," Thranduil giggled. "Did you hear what I said? Nana is waiting to serve breakfast."

"I heard that, and she will not mind waiting two minutes more." Oropher smiled as his son cuddled happily against him, and his arm around the slender waist tightened lovingly. "Or do you think that a little time with my favourite Elfling is asking too much?"

"Your only Elfling," the subject of his endearment corrected. "No, I don't. But Ada, you must get up soon. Do you remember yesterday? What you said? You promised to make a tree swing for me, Veassen and Linwë."

"Firstly, it is Veassen, Linwë and I," Oropher said, gently poking his child's side. "And secondly, I recall no such vow."

Thranduil sat up swiftly, turning to anxiously search the impassive face of the dark haired immortal with wide eyes. "You must. We found the wood and the rope and the tree we want to use, and you said, in front of Nana as a witness, that you would make the swing. You cannot break a promise, Ada. Even if you have forgotten it."

"Worry not. My memory serves me well enough, and you shall have your swing this afternoon," Oropher swore.

"This afternoon?"

"Oh, I know. Many hours away." Flicking a loose strand of gold from his son's eyes, the Elf pushed back the blankets and rose gracefully, stretching like a lithe cat as he made his way into the adjoining washroom. "Besides, you know that I have unavoidable business this morning. I have been summoned for an audience with the Circle."

Left alone, Thranduil folded his legs beneath him with a shake of his head. "The Circle," he repeated in a mutter. "Why, Ada? I don't understand what the Circle is, what it does. What do they have to see you about that is so very important?"

"I suppose we shall discover soon enough," Oropher called from the next room. "And you do know what they are. Greenwood has no ruling family, so the Circle of Elders maintain it, ensuring there is enough housing, food and water supplies, materials, jobs and everything else that a community, however large or small, requires in order to function sufficiently. How many times must I explain this before you cease your questions?"

"Do you think they will make you the ruler?" Thranduil returned, absently examining the contents of a transparent bottle upon his mother's table. A spray of rosewater perfume landed on his wrist, and he rubbed at it in disgust. "Do you, Ada? That would be funny."

"Amusing indeed, and another adventure," Oropher remarked over the splashing of water. "Our last was quite enough. No more adventures. I am content with this peaceful life."

Nodding in silent agreement, the Elfling walked around the bed to stand before a four paned window that looked out onto the great green trees and the modest constructions of wood, similar in style to his own which formed a small community of immortals. Most were the companions he had travelled with from Lindon, but some Silvan Elves dwelt close by too. He liked them and their quaint forest ways, so different to anything else that he had experienced in his short life. Although he and his family had been in Greenwood for just three months, he knew without a doubt in his mind that returning to a built up city and making a home in a town house could never be his path.

"Yes, it was enough," he murmured. "But worth it too. I am happy here."

"What was that?"

Turning to see his father leave the washroom lacing the last ties of his tunic, Thranduil's blond head shook gently. "Nothing. I just said that... Your boots are by the window. Shall I brush your hair?"

"If you wish," Oropher allowed with a smile. Sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on the knee length shoes of deerskin, he took a moment to enjoy feather-soft fingers smoothing out the sheets of his ebony coloured tresses. "No complicated braids today, please. Yours always become knots and tangles."

"I try," the Elfling protested.

"Of course you do, starling. I would never think otherwise," the older immortal soothed tenderly. "Now, tell me of your plans for this morning. I suppose you will be partaking in the difficult act of playing with your friends, no?"

"No. I promised Nana I would pick her some berries so that she can make a cake, but Linwë and Veassen are helping so we probably will find a game to play as we work." Laying the hairbrush upon the mattress, Thranduil slid off the bed and stood before Oropher, holding the other's green eyes in a serious gaze. "I have finished, so now I must tell you something very important... I am going to beat you to the kitchen!"

Just a matter of seconds later, it was with a mildly disapproving smile that a golden haired Elf-woman watched through cornflower blue eyes the loud entrance of her small family, the youngest member tucked neatly under his father's arm, wriggling to no avail. Her husband deposited the laughing bundle into a chair at the dining table, before approaching her from behind and enveloping her in a warm embrace. She turned in his arms to greet him with a kiss made all the sweeter by her smile, and the pleasant aromas of her perfume left a subtle mark upon him. Unlike his son's reaction to the feminine scent, Oropher inhaled, savouring the feel of rosewater toying with his senses.

"I thought you would never leave our bed," Felith whispered. "Tea? I have mint or strawberry."

"Hmm, neither. I wish to be on time for this meeting with the Circle of Elders, and tea, however delightful it sounds, will delay me," Oropher sighed, pulling away from his beloved to pick at the warm bread on the table behind her. "I do not expect to be gone for a long while. More than likely they wish only to ensure we and our friends are still content here."

"If I can cook my own food, I am more than content," the lady smiled. "Now, kindly cease that. If you are going to break your fast, do so at the table. I will not have crumbs on my clean floor. Go on. Table."

At the quiet laugh from the other side of the modestly sized room, Oropher glanced over his shoulder. "What amuses you, penneth?"

"Nana told you off," Thranduil informed his father.

The dark haired Elf grinned, and kissed his wife's cheek before heading towards the table and the one who had found humour in Felith's admonition. "She did indeed, my little star," he concurred. "Enjoy yourself this morning. I shall be back in time for luncheon, and then we will get to work on your swing. Be good."

"As always, Ada," the child sighed. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Giving his wife a look which said exactly the same, Oropher left the wooden forest house to find his horse tethered outside, chewing patiently at the luscious grass. The animal welcomed him with a nudge to his shoulder, and he slipped his friend a large slice of apple stolen from the kitchen before mounting and beginning the ride to his destination. It was a fine day to be outside. The warmth of spring sunshine cast rays of yellow and gold over all it touched, and the Elves he passed, be they Sindarin or Silvan, greeted him with pleasantly genuine smiles. He returned every one, each upturning of his lips real and veritable.

The moment he found himself out of the settlement and far enough away from the rustically built houses and the people going about their morning business, Oropher urged his horse into a hard gallop along the forest path, lying low over the creature's strong neck and relishing the sensation of cool wind whipping through his hair. In spite of his intended destination, he felt no worries or qualms. The meeting would be over with swiftly enough, and those he was due to speak with were harmless, if not openly friendly.

As he had explained to his son a short a while back, Greenwood the Great was maintained by an elite group of some twelve Elves, venerated throughout the vastness for their age, wisdom and infallible ability to provide for the hundreds of woodland inhabitants. The region differed greatly to all others, Elven or otherwise, in that it had no built up towns, no statues, no inns; nothing which moved apart from its pure naturalness. The trees had lived there for far longer than the Elves, and that was respected by all. So it was that the Circle of Elders held sway over all the goings on in the forest, making decisions of great importance and ruling where a monarch did not.

A good many of their councils were held in a private glade forbidden to all outside the Circle – indeed, it was said that whether one lived in Greenwood for sixty years or six thousand, one would never happen upon it – but their primary meeting place was a majestic chamber set in the heart of the one stone construction to be found in the forest. Built upon the great hill of Amon Lanc, where no trees grew and eyes could see for miles around, was a spectacular mansion large enough to be called a small palace, with kitchens stocked high with supplies, armouries of bows, blades and spears, quiet libraries for scholars or studying children, advanced healing quarters and all other manner of rooms.

Spread out before the immaculately fronted building was a vast space of paved stone, and Oropher slowed his horse to a walk as the animal's hooves left the soft forest floor. He let his eyes travel around the courtyard, drinking in the simplistic beauty and elements of nature that still surrounded him. Two long swards of grass ran parallel to each other from one end of the piazza to the other, surrounded by well tended flower beds of roses, tulips and tens of other brightly coloured plants; set within the very centre of each length of greenness was a year-round cherry blossom, decorated with thousands of tiny pink buds. Dominating the perfect portrait was a fountain depicting the growth of a sapling, and a pair of pure white doves cooed together upon one of the marble branches.

Dismounting before a flight of large stone steps, Oropher let a young animal handler take his horse, and offered a smile in greeting. "Good morning. It is a fine day."

"Indeed it is," the Silvan Elf replied. "Shall I stable your mount?"

"No, thank you."

Accompanying the refusal with a polite shake of his head, Oropher climbed the stairs to the main doors of the palace, and followed another waiting immortal though long carpeted corridors he had walked in only once before, shortly after his arrival in Greenwood when the Circle had requested to meet the leader of the Sindarin travellers. He did not think it would be anywhere near as long a visit today, or at the very least, he hoped not; he wanted to take some private time with his wife before his afternoon with three excitable Elflings. The thought of them made him smile. He would do anything for his son, and liked the child's friends well enough that he was more than happy to give them their much awaited tree swing.

"Here we are." His guide stopped before grand double doors of panelled wood, and flashed a swift smile. "The Circle are waiting, so you may go straight in. Good luck."

"Why would you say that?" Oropher questioned, caught off guard.

"Say what?"

"Good luck."

"I said that?"

"Yes."

"You must have imagined it."

"No."

"Then my memory is failing me," the Elf concluded with another knowing smile. "Good day."

Left alone in a large hall beneath a white ceiling rose, Oropher watched him leave with a slight shake of his head, struggling to see if there was a jest somewhere in the words that he was failing to understand. As well as living differently, eating differently and wearing different clothing styles to the Sindar and Noldor he had dwelt with in Lindon, the Wood-elves of Greenwood had a quite different sense of humour to anything he and his friends had previously experienced. The strange lifestyle and mannerisms took some getting used to by the newcomers; although he had thought he was doing quite well at comprehending it, clearly he still had some way to go yet. _Good luck... _He shook his head again as he turned towards the doors and knocked upon one of the dark panels. Waiting to a count of three before pushing open the portal and stepping over the threshold, he banished the thought away. He needed no luck for this meeting.

The chamber was as wide as it was long, yet in spite of its immensely imposing size, adornments were simplistic and few and far between. Decorating the walls were painted murals of woodland scenes, images of trees, plant life, animals and pools, and between the illustrations stood quietly flaming glow lamps to light the large area. Benches of wood sat in lines, no doubt for audiences of more than a few, but the main focus of the room were the twelve elaborately carved chairs at the far end, set before mahogany depictions of the forest Vala, Oromë, and slightly behind a lectern upon a raised dais. The Elves sat in those chairs were the Elders, those immortals who made up the Circle, and they regarded Oropher in cool silence as he acknowledged their standing with a hand upon his heart and a bow of his head.

Only one rose to approach the lectern, a raven haired Elf with piercing green eyes like knives in a fair face devoid of any readable expression. Robes of black with a waist sash of grey to break up the block of colour trailed on the floor behind him, making gentle swishing sounds as he walked, the only noise within the chamber. At many thousands of years old, he was the very eldest of the twelve, and his vast import within the group showed in his stance and the quiet confidence of his movements. Considered to be something of a judge, his words carried great weight, no matter how few or many he uttered; the fact that he was the one making the address today spoke volumes, and Oropher found his mind drifting back to the Elf from before and the luck he had wished. He realised with a start that his mouth had run dry at the prospect of facing this widely respected individual who had the power to evict him and his family from the forest of Greenwood at any moment. _Good luck..._

"I thank you for your swift arrival here," the Elder intoned. "Have you any knowledge of the reason behind your summons?"

"Nay, I do not. I thought that I had an idea, but from studying the expressions worn by yourself and your colleagues, Elder Faelind, I see my perception was quite wrong," Oropher answered carefully. "I am eager to hear what you have to say, though."

Faelind nodded, regarding the younger Elf over the wooden rim of the lectern with appraising eyes. "Hmm. You have been in the forest for three months now. Despite being born in a faraway kingdom and living your life in a city of buildings and advanced civilisation, you and your people have integrated yourselves into our society with a keen willingness to learn our ways and move away from all that you have known. We did not expect that from you. As it is, we admire and respect your embracing of the diversity."

"I would not move to a new home and bring my old style of life with me," Oropher said. "I would not show such utter discourtesy."

"We have watched you since the very first day, and you have exceeded all of our expectations. You show strength, wisdom, resilience, foresight and an ability to lead through the greatest trials and tribulations. The people who followed you from Lindon have become your own, and they love you for all that you have done. So too do the Wood-elves; they see much within you, a potential to do deeds of greatness," Faelind continued. "Last evening, something of great importance occurred. The trees spoke."

"The trees... Forgive me, but I was under the impression that the trees speak at all times." The mind of the Sindarin Elf whirled as he fought to take in and understand what was being said to him. It was not an easy task. "Your words do not make sense to me."

"Yes, the trees do converse with us at all times, but we heard something very different this night gone. They spoke for you," Faelind explained slowly.

"For me?"

The raven headed Elder's lips turned upwards in a rare smile, and he nodded concurrence. "They have accepted you."

Oropher resisted the urge to undertake the confused gesture of pushing a hand through his hair, and took a moment to glance at the eleven individuals still sat silently in their chairs behind the lectern and their colleague. Though they did not speak, their eyes of green and brown were fixed unblinkingly upon him. The more open of the Circle wore small smiles, but even those he was powerless to translate into something understandable. "Elder Faelind, I am trying very hard to glimpse the meaning behind your words. Mayhap you can see that comprehension is slow, even invisible, in coming."

Amongst the line of Elves who had yet to speak there was movement, and a willowy lady garbed in sombre coloured robes of beige came forwards to stand upon the raised dais. She appeared scholarly in a radiant way, wearing her long brown hair coiled into a knot at the nape of her neck, held back by a grey barrette. Her dark eyes were like those of an avian, and the resemblance to a beautiful bird was heightened as she tilted her head to one side to aid her viewpoint of the waiting Elf before her. "As a mistress of lore, I deem it best that I continue this and give you a suitable explanation. What do you know of Greenwood's history?"

"Only that which I have read and been told of by those who know it best, Elder Angoliel," Oropher replied, aware that his voice held no less bewilderment. "Your question is broad. Of what aspects do you speak?"

"The forest is ancient and the greatest in Arda. For all of its years, it has been without a monarch or family to stand precedence over the trees and people, ruled instead by the Circle you see before you now. We are an age old tradition that has been upheld unfailingly for time without measure. Why? Because the trees have never spoken," Angoliel clarified in a hushed tone. "They have never chosen an Elf to sit upon a throne not yet built, but the time has now come for our construction workers to take up their tools and carve a chair of power greater than the ones I and my colleagues occupy. A chair for you."

"Surely you jest," Oropher said bluntly.

Although Faelind's eyebrows rose at the words, a soft smile graced Angoliel's fair features. "Nay. You have been chosen to rule Greenwood as her King."

The Sindarin Elf wished desperately that there was a seat behind him he could sink into, or at the very least, a wall to support him from the brunt of the revelation. Uncaring of the twelve regarding him with such intent, he raised one hand and raked his fingers through his hair, releasing a long exhalation of breath. So much for his ideas of a swift meeting and then a pleasant ride home to spend carefree time with his family. As he watched that vision disappear into oblivion, Oropher shook his head. He did not want this. He did not want to even be there. All he wanted was to turn around and walk away, forget that those words had been uttered. There had to be a way out, somewhere. _There has to be. I can refuse. I can tell them to find another ruler, to inform their...trees that they have chosen the wrong one. This is madness. It is folly. _

"Folly?" Faelind repeated quietly. "You believe so?"

Oropher blinked in surprise as he looked up into those piercing eyes. He was not aware he had spoken his last thoughts aloud. "With all the respect that is due to you, the other Elders, the people of Greenwood and the trees who have told you this... Yes, it is folly. You said yourself that I have been here for three months. That is no time at all. I am a stranger come from a foreign land. You have given me a home and everything that I need, but how can you know that I am worthy of kingship? Perhaps I am Sauron in a disguise, and my family and friends are minions of mine whose true faces are hidden by sorcery. And you would make me the ruler of this forest?"

"Were there anything but goodness within you, we would know," Angoliel assured him. "We understand you cannot speak with the trees yourself for further confirmation, but if you need to hear it, only ask Elder Lavaneth. She will tell you. Lavaneth?"

A green gowned lady stepped forth, and the affirming nod she gave made her waist length brown hair shimmer in the light from the glow lamps. A pendant in the shape of a leaping deer hung around her pale neck, and she raised an elegantly long finger to touch it. "Of us all, my affinity with nature is the greatest. I have spent the moonlight hours amongst the trees, listening to their songs and speaking long with them of this matter. It has been decided."

"Decided?" Oropher repeated incredulously. "Even before I came here?"

"Of course you have a say in the matter. We are not unreasonable," Faelind answered.

Shaking his head in disbelief, the dark haired Sinda regarded the Elders silently for a moment before pressing on with his argument. "If you are to have a ruler, is it not wise to choose one who has royal blood already in their veins? I was born into a noble family of Doriath, although it was not one of particularly high standing. I had a title before my name, yes, but I left that behind in Lindon. Now all I am is... I am just an Elf."

"A chosen Elf," Lavaneth corrected quietly.

"So you say. What of my family?" Oropher sighed. "I have a wife, a son..."

"Ah, yes. The trees did not neglect to tell me of them. Felith will become your Queen, a ruling lady of as much strength and wisdom as you possess yourself. She will capture the hearts of the people and hold them through all the years to come, with a beauty to rival the fairest flower. As for the child..." Lavaneth's brown eyes, flecked with jade green, flickered in something akin to fondness. "His youth and innocence shields his true potential, but the trees say that he will be a Crown Prince to make us all very proud. Should he ever succeed you and take the throne, he will lead the Elves of Greenwood without fail. That is, of course, if you choose to accept this position."

"We are going to send you away now. You will return to your home and make a decision, of which the trees will hear and inform us. Take your time," Angoliel told him gently. "We have thrown this at you, and we do understand that you have received a shock this morning. All I will ask of you is to keep always in your mind that this has never before happened. No Elf in the history of Greenwood the Great has been chosen by the people or trees to rule; that applies also to the Elders past and present. I hope that tells you something."

Oropher said nothing more. He gave the Circle a cursory bow before turning on his heel and leaving the audience chamber. He walked through the corridors of the palace without seeing anything he passed, unconscious of the Elves who smiled at him or offered a morning greeting. Descending the outside stairs and mounting his waiting horse was done automatically, the actions devoid of thought or concentration, and he did not realise he had ridden out of the courtyard until a trailing branch touched his shoulder. He started, and the realisation of all that had happened in so short a space of time came crashing down upon him like a hammer on an anvil. A despairing rush of breath left his lips, and the nudge he gave his horse's side was far more forceful than necessary. The animal jumped away into a canter that swiftly became a gallop, but his rider knew that no speed could take him away from the choice which hung so heavily over his head.

The ride to the palace had been pleasant, and Oropher found himself wishing he was back at that moment in time when the world made sense and troubles were a faraway thing, but it seemed only seconds before he was back in the settlement and gazing upon his wooden forest home. He stayed in the trees, watching smoke drift lazily from the chimney and disappear in spirals into the trees. Felith was clearly indulging in her favourite pastime of cooking. He wondered what culinary delights she was preparing. It was not an absent thought. He truly cared and wanted to know, because he was all too aware that whatever decision he gave the Elders, everything about his life would change. There would be no affectionate late mornings with his son, no breakfast made by his wife's fair hand, no tree swings to be made... He groaned softly, and cast a helpless look towards the sky.

There was nothing to be done. He could put it off for as long as he wanted, but the truth would have to come out sooner or later, and he knew full well that the longer he left the conversation with his wife, the worse the situation would become. Although, a part of his mind bitterly told him that the 'situation' was as worse as it could get and nothing at all could add weight to it. He dismounted and tethered his horse at a tree stump in front of the house, and drew in a deep breath as he pushed the door open. Sweet smells of cooking immediately assaulted his senses, and a sad smile pulled his lips upwards. He could hear humming from a room off of the kitchen, and he listened to Felith's beautiful voice with his eyes closed. Perhaps that would not change. Perhaps she would continue to sing, whatever happened.

"What are you doing, my love?"

Oropher blinked his eyes open, and watched his wife come out from the pantry with her arms full of foodstuffs. "I am not sure. Do you know there is flour on your cheek?"

"I was not aware. Thank you," Felith smiled. "I am glad you have returned, although I did think you would be here before now. You can help me if there is nothing else you have planned. I know, I know; making a cake with your wife is not the most masculine of tasks. Thranduil should be back soon with the berries, although I do not hold out much hope. He is sure to become distracted with his friends, but... Distracted as you seem to be now. Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, I was... Yes, I suppose distracted is the right word. What would you have me do?" A bowl of eggs, butter and flour was passed into his hands, and Oropher nodded as a spoon came with it. He regarded the mixture in silence for a moment before putting everything down on the table and turning sharply to face his wife. "I cannot do this...this...normalcy. Something has happened, and I know that you will like it even less than I do. The Circle of Elders... They have asked me to become somebody I am not, somebody I do not think I can be, somebody I do not even _want _to be."

"You are not making sense," Felith said quietly. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Oropher led her to a chair at the table, but rather than sit with her, he knelt on the floor and took her hands in his. "I cannot think _how_ to tell you this. If I could escape with keeping it a secret I would do so, but I know that you have to... Meleth-nín, the Circle of Elders want me to rule Greenwood as her King. I did not understand what they were trying to say to me, but there it is. The trees have chosen me, is what they said. The trees... Can you believe it? The trees? I thought for a moment that they were jesting. I even asked them, although they were not greatly amused by it. Listen to me, I am talking and talking; it is nerves, worries. Tell me what is in your mind. You must have many things to say and ask."

"Actually, no," Felith murmured. "I am at a loss as to what I _can_ say."

"You need a moment to take it all in. At least you are sitting down." Oropher smiled at his weak attempt at humour, and tightened the hold he had around his wife's hands. "I understand. It is not what you expected to hear."

Wide eyes turned towards the ceiling, searching it as though answers to alleviate her shock and bewilderment could be found there, but the immortal woman said nothing. Her face was blank and free from expression, although tumultuous emotions played out in her flickering pools of blue. Silence reigned throughout the small kitchen; not a silence broken at intervals by an outside noise or a random sound, but pure, real silence. That deathly quiescence was all that existed between the two Elves until the opening of a door burst into their reveries and shattered the peace into a hundred shards. Of them both, it was only the husband who reacted. Felith started slightly, but her gaze did not move away from its point of concentration, and she did not spare the newcomer a single word. She appeared to be stunned by the harsh blow dealt to her from a revelation she had never expected to hear.

Pausing at the entrance to the kitchen, Thranduil tilted his head to one side. "Ada, did you know that you are sitting on the floor? There are chairs." His declaration was met with nothing more than a quiet nod, and he shrugged his shoulders in acceptance of his father's seemingly strange behaviour. "I picked what you wanted, Nana. There are strawberries, raspberries, elderberries and some other berries that I don't know the name of. Linwë thinks they are poisonous, but we put them into the basket anyway in case they are safe. Where shall I put them? Nana? Nana, what do you want me to do with the berries? Nana!"

"Put them in the pantry," Oropher said quickly. As the child disappeared, he rose from his place at Felith's knee and touched her cheek, gently forcing her gaze to meet his. "What would you have me do, meleth? Tell him? Keep it until we speak together?"

"I would have been back sooner, but we did manage to find a game to play as we worked," Thranduil explained as he put the basket of berries into storage, speaking before his mother had a chance. "We had a war, whereby the fruit we could not use were weapons, and the one who ended up covered in the most juice was the defeated warrior. I think Veassen lost, because Linwë is the strongest and I am the fastest, so he didn't really have much of an advantage. Although, I still got quite dirty. I hope you don't mind, Nana. Veassen's mother said the stains will come out. Oh, that reminds me. It is her Begetting Day next week, and Veassen wants to make her a cake or pie as a surprise, but he doesn't know how. I said you would teach him because you like cooking, but if you would rather not, it doesn't matter. We can follow a recipe from one of your books and make something edible. Oh, and _that _reminds me too... Linwë said that we could eat the berries before they were washed, but I didn't think so because some of them were unclean. Me and Veassen – sorry, Veassen and _I_ – didn't put them anywhere _near _our mouths because we didn't want to be poisoned, but Linwë did, so if anything happens to him, we did try and stop... Are either of you listening to me?"

Turning his eyes away from Felith's blank face, Oropher shook his dark head slowly. "It was not your fault, but you have disturbed us at a rather inopportune moment. Perhaps you could go back to your friends and play with them a while longer."

"I will, if you do not want me here," Thranduil murmured, only just masking the hurt in his voice. "I must change my tunic first, though. This has berry stains on it."

"You are the same size as Veassen. I am sure he will have something you can borrow," Felith intoned. "Leave us, please."

"Nana, I am going to. But I don't want to wear another Elf's clothes. I want mine," the child argued. He turned his eyes upon his father, seeking support from that corner. "Ada... It will only take me a minute to change. I will even climb out of my window rather than leave through the door if you are so desperate not to see me."

Oropher could not help but wince at that. Holding out one hand, he beckoned his son towards him. "Come here, penneth. It is not that we have no wish to see you. As I said, your entrance was poorly timed. Your mother and I were about to sit down and have a discussion of great importance, and it is not one that can be avoided. You will understand soon enough. I only ask that you help us have that conversation by giving us an hour alone."

"I already said to Nana I will leave," Thranduil replied quietly. "But before I do, will you tell me what you are to speak of? Is something wrong? Is it me? Did your meeting with the Circle of Elders not go as you expected? That's it, isn't it? The Elders... Before you left for the palace, both of you were cheerful and smiling. Now you have come back, and everything is different. Ada, what happened? What did they say?"

"Ai, you are perceptive indeed," Oropher murmured. "Yes, my talk with the Circle has caused this. It is nothing for you to worry yourself over."

"But I do worry," Thranduil whispered. "And if you cannot tell me, I will continue to do so. Please..."

Lifting her head from where she had it resting in her hands, Felith gazed into the child's face, paled with the fear he had spoken of. "Your father has been chosen to sit upon the throne of Greenwood the Great and become the King of the forest. He has been selected not just by the people, but by the trees. The impression I have is that their voice counts for much more than that of any Elf, and they – the trees – want us as the ruling family. I hope you see now why it was so important that we speak."

"Greenwood has no monarchy," Thranduil carefully corrected his mother. "Ada told me that this morning."

"I did," Oropher concurred. "However, things have changed since then. Your mother told you the truth; we are the only Elves in the history of the forest to be selected as its rulers. The trees 'accepted' us, so the Elders named it. They see within us as a family something different, something that they feel can shape this realm and protect it as only a monarchy can do. I fail to understand why we have been chosen, but it has happened. We can refuse these positions of power. We have been given that choice, and it is one that we will have to make sooner or later. I could decide on my own, were I an Elf who did not respect the thoughts of his loved ones. But I do. I want to know what you think, both of you, and then we can reach a decision together. So please, tell me your thoughts."

"If you become the King and Nana becomes the Queen, that would make me the Prince. Yes?" Thranduil confirmed quietly. "Could I still be friends with Linwë and Veassen?"

"Of course," Oropher soothed.

"Could I still have a tree swing?"

The dark haired Elf gave a soft laugh, although it carried very little humour. "You could have a whole tree, ion-nín."

"The swing would be enough," Thranduil murmured.

Felith exhaled, but only the rise and fall of her shoulders announced that she had released the weary breath. "The decision is not ours to make, Oropher. You can listen to our thoughts and what we have to say on the matter, but I think you know it does not make a blind bit of difference. You said that we as a family were chosen, but how is that true? _You_ were chosen. Not me, not our son: you. We are only included because of our blood ties to you. So, whether I want to wear a crown or am content in this little house... It does not matter. The final choice must lie with you. Already you have changed our lives for the better by taking us from Lindon. That was a decision made by you, and I will never regret supporting it. You did not fail us then, so whatever you choose to do now, I will know is the right path of life we must follow. I shall stand by you as your wife, your best friend, your soul mate and your Queen, if it comes to that. You have my word."

"As will I," Thranduil promised, his voice hushed. "I will trust you to do the right thing, Ada."

"Valar, a heavy burden is laid upon my shoulders," Oropher whispered. As the small arms of his son wrapped themselves around his waist in a tight embrace, he closed his eyes to hide the tears conceived by the words spoken to him. The sweet scent of rosewater mixed with cooking smells drifted into his awareness, and he drew strength from the feel of his beloved forsaking her own emotions to hold him close. He knew there was a decision to be made, and where before it had appeared an impossible task, the presence of the two Elves he loved the most gave him faith that he could reach it on an easier road. "Thank you, both of you. Felith, I am going to spend the rest of the morning with you. We will make your cake and anything else that you want to, regardless of how demeaning it is to my status as a male and a warrior. Thranduil, you shall have your tree swing this afternoon. When it is finished, I will push you and your friends as high as you want to go until you tire of it. There will be no talk of kingship or ruling or anything of the sort. No talk at all. Leave it until tomorrow morning, when the night hours have given me a chance to reach my decision."

"What of the Elders?" Felith reminded him gently. "Will they not want to know this?"

A tree outside the window waved its branches without the aid of a breeze, and Oropher flashed his teeth in a swift smile. "They will know. We have an eavesdropper."

"Who?" Pulling away from the embrace, Thranduil's golden head shook at the strangeness of adults, and he turned his attention upon the bowl of mixture sitting on the table. "May I help you with the cake? If I don't do something to keep my mind away from what has happened, I will think of it, and you said there must be no talk of kingship, Ada."

"Your aid would be very much appreciated," Felith said warmly. "Go and wash your hands before anything else." Watching her son run outside to obey the instruction, she slipped an arm around Oropher's waist, and the smile upon her face faded as she rested her head against his strong shoulder. "This normality and the mundane tasks of routine life will not be ours. There will be no making of cakes, no carefree times with our only child. I think that if this day is to be our last as any other Elven family, we must make the most of it and never forget it. We must store it in our minds like a painting upon the wall, to be looked at whenever we wish."

"I told myself this on the way back from the palace," Oropher agreed in a murmur. "You speak the truth."

"Everything is going to change," Felith whispered.

In reply to the words that he knew were not a question, the dark haired Elf gently kissed the top of his wife's head. "Yes. It is."

**THE PRESENT**

_As flames flickered throughout the forest as signals of celebratory feasts, the avian predator cast his shadow over the moon once more with a sweeping dive through the sky. Following the green gaze of her beloved, Felith watched the wheeling dance too, although her eyes did not truly see. "Tomorrow is an important day, for you especially. I cannot imagine that standing out here for hours on end is wise. You must rest, even if you do not feel that sleep will come. At least try."_

"_The Elders named me wise when they gave me the choice of kingship or a normal life," Oropher replied bitterly. "Clearly they were wrong, if I choose wakefulness over slumber when such a great event awaits me in the morning."_

"_Do not snap," Felith chided, her voice soft. "And cease that sarcasm. It helps nothing."_

_Pulling his eyes away from the circling bird, the dark haired Elf turned to face his wife. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and he released a deep sigh as he pushed the stray strands behind her pointed ears. "I am sorry, meleth-nín. You were thinking only of my wellbeing, and I was wrong to throw your thoughtfulness back at you. I tried to sleep. I have been willing it to come for hours, but all I could do is lie in the darkness and stare at the ceiling. I found no comfort, no rest, no pleasure from the warmth of the bed or the lady I love in my arms. I had to escape. Tomorrow will come whether I want it to or not, and waiting for it out here seemed preferable to the stifling mood inside."_

"_Your mind has not swayed?"_

"_It has swayed every hour since I agreed to claim the throne of Greenwood. I have doubts even now, with the coronation just hours away," Oropher admitted quietly. "I wish so desperately to speak with the trees and ask them why, for the love of the Valar, did they choose me? What did they see inside my soul that I do not see myself? I know that wish is in vain. I may become the ruler of them, but I am not a Wood-elf."_

"_There is yet time," Felith reminded her husband. "The Circle of Elders have given you until the moment the crown touches your head to say that you made the wrong decision. You can do that. You can do it without shame, and we can leave the palace and this new life of luxuries. Our old house still stands in the settlement. Perhaps it is awaiting our return."_

"_You forget this has not happened before," Oropher sighed. "A monarchy. It may never happen, if I walk away. I cannot do that to the people of Greenwood. They may have lived their lives without a ruler, but they set such store by the words of the trees that failing to fulfil this prophecy would devastate them. And just imagine what would happen if I refused the crown at this stage. We could go back to the way things were, but it would not be the same. You know that well."_

_At those reluctant words, there was no choice for the Elven woman but to nod her golden head in agreement. "I do. I know too that tomorrow will be difficult, but you will walk through it with your head held high. I will be there at your side for every moment. And do not forget our little Prince."_

"_How is he?" Oropher asked quietly. _

"_Terrified." Felith gave a gentle smile as she returned her arms to their place around her husband's neck. His easily encircled her waist, and she leaned into the embrace to place a kiss upon his smooth cheek. "Thranduil will be just fine, as will you. I promise."_

_Songs and laughter resounded like beautiful bells throughout the night air, and the soon to be crowned King and Queen of Greenwood the Great stood together on the balcony outside their new suite of apartments for time uncountable to either of them. Beyond the palace that would become their official residence within a matter of hours, their people rejoiced the coming of a royal family to the realm, and the trees waved their branches in accompaniment to woodland melodies, although the feasting and merry making did not come close to that which would take place the night after the impending coronation. Oropher and his wife listened to the sounds which heralded emotions of pure pleasure and joy, and they had to smile at the great abundance of happiness surrounding them in spite of their doubtfully exchanged words and the daunting event which lay so close at hand. They smiled, but high overhead, an eagle screamed. _

**_To be continued..._**


	2. The Coronation

**Chapter 2 **

Blue eyes the shade of a radiant summer sky snapped into focus as the click of an opening door pulled their owner from a slumber that had only become deep after long hours of restfulness and fitful tossing and turning. The open portal admitted rays of horribly bright sunshine, and the yet weary immortal hid his face in fluffy pillows, jerking a silken sheet over his head to aid the banishment of light. It did little good, and the accompanying sounds of birdsong, impatient voices and a woman's humming helped not at all. He hissed under his breath, and conducted a silent countdown to the moment when the order to rise from his bed would come, followed by sighing and that irritating noise adults made with their tongues when they were displeased. Five... He pulled the blankets closer, savouring their comfort. Four... He pushed his head deeper into the pillows. Three... He released an exhalation of breath, resigned to his fate. Two... He gripped the sheets, preparing to push them away and begin a morning he did not wish to greet. One...

He sat up swiftly before a voice could intrude, only just resisting the urge to touch a hand ruefully to his head as it spun with the sudden movement, and his heart immediately sank. The image of his wooden house in the forest with its quaint, small rooms and modestly decorated furniture was yet imprinted in his mind, and he still received a surprise each morning when he woke to be greeted with splendour and the impressive grandeur of a home befitting individuals of a higher standing than he had ever imagined he himself would become. Surveying the richness of his new sleeping quarters, Thranduil could not help but grimace. Although he was sure he would become accustomed to the large bed, polished woodworked wardrobes and toy chest, expensive paintings upon the walls and his very own private wash chamber, he was equally as certain he would never warm to them. Just as he would never warm to the woman guilty of that humming, who had been appointed his carer in the absence of his soon to be crowned parents.

Casting the maiden's turned back a baleful look as she sorted through his coronation clothes, the child slipped from his bed and out onto the marble balcony which gave magnificent views for miles over the region of Rhovanion. He rested his hands upon the cool balustrade, gazing over the trees which made up the greatest forest in all of Arda and marvelling at the immensity of such a portrait. This privilege was the only one he yet found pleasure in, although that was not to say he would rather gaze upon it than be back in the settlement with his friends and their days of youthful play. He was unsure that anything could replicate the joys of their tree swing or the nearby pool for diving, even this surreal child's fantasy adventure he was entangled in. It _had_ been a daydream of his at times, but now that he was living it with his eyes wide open, he was not so sure he wanted to.

"My Prince?"

Thranduil recalled just in time that rolling his eyes was not etiquette becoming to an Elf of royal status, and looked over his shoulder into the fair face of the nursemaid. He had opened his mouth to ask that she refrain from naming him so by the title which would become his sooner than he wished, but polite requests had done nothing thus far and he was quite aware that they would not gain him anything on that day of all. "Yes, Faelwen," he sighed. "I am awake, I am out of bed, I have not run away. I suppose it is time for me to change into those..._clothes_, isn't it?"

"Such a simple word, yet you have laden it with enough disgust, one would think you spoke of something truly awful," the lady smiled. "Come, child. They are just items of apparel."

"I liked my old ones," Thranduil muttered. A part of his mind said that response was improper for a Prince, but he shrugged the thought away and stalked off the balcony, back into his room. "You do not need to be here while I change. I know you think I will ruin the clothes to avoid wearing them, but I do not hate them that much. I shall call you when I am finished."

"Your coronation garb was commissioned by your Lord father himself," Faelwen reminded the boy sharply. "These are not a casual pair of play leggings and a tunic to be made dirty by the fingers of a careless Elfling. I would not trust any below their majority to handle them without aid."

"If that is so, I shall be attending the ceremony dressed in my night attire," Thranduil snapped, "because I am not letting you anywhere near me when I am more than capable of tying laces and fastening clasps myself. I may not yet be the Prince of Greenwood, but since you do not treat me as a normal individual – as I _want _to be treated – you will not mind following any orders that I give, no? So you should leave this room right now, unless you wish to anger a member of your royal family before they are even crowned."

The nursemaid's mouth fell open, and she gazed at her charge in stunned silence for nigh on a minute before turning on her heel and leaving the room with a disbelieving shake of her head. Watching her departure, the golden haired Elfling flashed a grin. Perhaps there was another advantage to having a title before his name. Slightly cheered by the thought and his victory, he shrugged off his sleep shirt, replacing it with the rich garb of dark green and silver he would wear at the impending coronation without even a mutter of disgust. He supposed there was little reason to complain. His clothing predicament could have been much, much worse. The tailor who had taken his measurements the previous week had let slip quite by accident that ceremonial robes were to be made; only long hours of dispute with his mother and father had brought about the conception of his still much disliked tunic and leggings.

Connecting the final clasp of the shirt, Thranduil opened his door to meet Faelwen's critical eye with a gaze which bordered on insolent. "You see? Nothing happened as I dressed myself. The sky did not turn black, lightning bolts did not rain down from the heavens and turn the palace into ruins. All is well."

"I do not believe that impertinence is becoming to any child, but one of your standing should know better," the nursemaid admonished quietly. "Still, perhaps you shall learn in time. I suppose it is yet early days."

The Elfling said nothing as he allowed the lady to take a brush to his hair. Yes, she was right in one respect; it _was_ early days. Despite that, and despite the fact that he had spent his whole life living in a world of routine and normalcy, it was expected that he should forsake all of his old mannerisms and ways of acting to replace them with royal dignity, protocol and impassiveness. He did try to conform to the idealistic image of how a Prince should carry himself and behave, but he found it such a difficult task to undertake. Sometimes he slipped into the way he used to be, the ways to which he was accustomed, and would have to suffer disapproving looks or murmured reprimands that he was no longer just another Elf. Even his mother and father would correct him in voices touched with disappointment and anger respectively, and he wondered often if they found the drastic change any easier to bear than he did himself. It was never more than wonder, though; there had been no chance to ask the question. Since accepting the charge of ruling Greenwood just over two weeks back, neither Oropher nor Felith had spared much time for their only child.

With that last thought embedded in his mind, Thranduil met Faelwen's dark eyes in the mirror. He could not afford to have her refrain from talking to him as well as his own parents. "I should not have spoken to you as I did," he admitted, his voice soft. "It was wrong of me. I know that you were only trying to help."

"Are you apologising, my Prince?"

Hesitating a moment to banish his pride, the child nodded his head in brief acquiescence. "Yes."

"Very well. In that case, you are forgiven," Faelwen said with a gentle smile as she tied off his braid. "Now, I am finished with you for the time being. I suggest you go straight to the dining hall and eat a fair breakfast to prepare yourself for the day ahead. Food will do you good, and perhaps take your mind from the nerves."

"How do you know that I am nervous?" Thranduil asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to face the Elven woman. "I am. This could be the most important day in the history of Greenwood, not to mention my family's. My parents and everyone in the forest want me to be a Prince, but I am not very good at playing such a role. I don't understand how to behave or speak or just be, but I do try. I try, yet nobody seems to see that. They think I deliberately say the wrong words or act incorrectly. It's not true, Faelwen. They forget I was not born into this way of living. They want me to be perfect, but I cannot do that. Not yet. I need time to adjust."

"Would that I was able to say there are no expectations," the nursemaid sighed. "You will fill them one day, but it is as you said; you need time. Now go on, get yourself to breakfast. Remember what I told you: food will do you good."

Releasing a quiet exhale of breath, Thranduil nodded and left the room, although he did not follow the path which led towards the dining hall. Instead he turned to the right, walking through the wing of the palace that had been given to his family as the royal apartments. Elaborate tapestries hung upon the walls, but he paid them little heed, nor the luxurious carpet passing beneath his feet. His mind was fixed upon his destination, and two Elves whom he hoped with all of his heart would grant him admittance into their presence just for a few short moments before they passed the point of no return and their lives changed forever. He knew there was still time for Oropher's mind to sway, and deep down, he thought perhaps that was what he really wanted. But in spite of his wishes, he was not fool enough to believe that everything would go back to the way it was with the coronation lying so close at hand.

Two immortals garbed in green livery with the insignia of a tree upon their tunics stood before double doors, and both bowed their heads towards the child at his approach. He nodded in return, glancing past them to the rooms hidden behind portals of wood. "Are my mother and father in there, or have they come out?" he questioned quietly. "I would very much like to see them, if you could let me by."

"Alas, we have our orders to let none pass," one guard informed him. "Lord Oropher and Lady Felith are being prepared for the coronation, and have decreed that they must not be disturbed."

"Did they mention me?" Thranduil pressed.

"They said none," the second Elf reiterated.

Resisting the urge to raise his voice as he had done to Faelwen, the child folded his arms across his chest and met the older immortals' eyes with his own. "I am their son, and soon to become the heir to the throne of Greenwood. One would think that enough to allow me through, but if you have orders, you must see them done. I am content to stand here and wait, if you don't mind. Do you?"

No reply came from either guard, but the expressions of disapproval fixed upon their faces made his heart pound hard and fast against his chest. Again, the temptation to snap came over him. Rather than give in to the anger and let it control him, he flashed the Elves a frosty look and turned on his heel to stride away. He went swiftly, avoiding passersby and their appraising eyes through the little used back corridors and hidden stairs he had discovered whilst exploring the palace. They took him to an entrance at the rear of the building, and he slipped through the doors before an Elder or a member of the serving staff could catch him. There were many of both parties present in preparation for the ceremony, and it would be just his luck to stumble upon one of the Circle in his current mood and with the thoughts that were in his mind. They would be sure to stop him.

In spite of his surety that he would be waylaid just seconds after stepping into open air, Thranduil found that fortune was on his side for the time being. He escaped the palace grounds altogether, ducking out of the gates and into the woodland, past guards standing attention – a fact which made him silently question their credibility – and Elves flocking to the royal home for the coronation. Rather than use the trees to conceal his presence, however, he walked freely through the crowds. His normal behaviour earned him just a few sideways looks, and he was thankful that Greenwood was home to so many. Had it been a lesser community with fewer habitants, recognition of his face would have made the journey a difficult one. As it was, he reached his destination with no trouble, and released a long breath of relief as he gazed upon it.

A congregation of small forest homes constructed from timber wood stood amongst the trees in the rough form of a circle, tiny and so very different in comparison to the imposing palace built upon the great hill of Amon Lanc. The pang of regret which assailed Thranduil was painful, and as he walked through the quietly empty settlement in which he had lived just a few weeks ago with his mother and father, he was hard pushed to banish it. _I miss it here_, he reflected sadly. _I miss the houses and the smoke from the chimneys, the laughter,__ the people,__ the freedom... I miss my friends__ most of all_With the thoughts flitting through his mind, he stopped at the door to a humble abode and raised one hand to knock, although he was swift to lower his arm and run around the back. He could not risk being greeted by the wrong Elf, especially when his plan had gone so accordingly thus far.

At the window he sought, he tapped upon the pane and waited impatiently for a face to materialise on the other side. Nothing happened for long moments; just as he was beginning to fear that the house was already empty and he had missed its inhabitants, an auburn haired Elfling slightly older than he appeared before him. "Linwë," he breathed in relief. Green eyes widened in surprise, and he gave a small smile as he mouthed, "Hello."

The other child stood as though frozen for a few seconds, and gave no inaudible reply as he glanced over his shoulder as though seeking confirmation from someone else in the room. It must have come, for he lifted the window and leaned out to converse. "Hello, stranger. I thought you had forgotten where I live."

"No," Thranduil muttered. "I had not. Is Veassen with you? Only, I was hoping to speak with the pair of you together, if you have time."

"We have a coronation to attend," Linwë replied bluntly. He waited until the blond boy's eyes flickered with sorrow before holding out one hand to pull him up over the window ledge. "You could have come in through the front door, you know. That is, after all, the way most normal Elves tend to enter a house. Oh, but I forgot... You are not normal anymore, are you?"

Landing lightly upon the floor, Thranduil automatically straightened his clothes and nodded at the second Elfling lounging on the bed. Brown eyes regarded him in silence, the only response to his hesitant greeting. "I did not risk knocking on the door in case you did not open it. Nobody forbade me from leaving the palace, but I am quite sure I should not be here now. As it is, I wanted to tell you – you too, Veassen – something important. Will you listen?"

"Why should we?" Linwë questioned softly.

"I... What?"

"Why should we listen to what you have to say?" Veassen reiterated before the oldest Elfling could answer. "We don't resent you for leaving the settlement and making a new home in the palace. We don't care for your servants and fancy clothes and the title before your name. We do, however, object to the fact that you now consider yourself far too high and mighty to associate with commoners. You seem to forget that you were one, not so long ago."

Unable to keep his eyes from widening in shock, Thranduil took a step back as though dealt a physical blow."Commoners? No, that's not... I would never-

"Then, explain why you have not taken the time to visit us or send a brief letter," Linwë said quietly. "There are messengers at the palace, yes? You could have contacted us without leaving the comfort of your home."

"It is not as easy as you believe; and if I truly thought of you both as commoners, as lesser Elves than I, why am I here now? Why am I here just an hour before the coronation, risking the anger of my parents and countless others just to speak with you?" Thranduil snapped. "It may surprise you to know that I only supported my father's decision because he promised I could remain friends with you two. Since moving from the settlement, I have tried my hardest to get away from the palace and the number of guards, serving staff and Elders surrounding me at all times, but only today, when everyone is too busy to notice, have I been successful. Clearly my journey was wasted. Everyone seems to think it is simple, but they – and you – are so very wrong. This is the hardest thing I have ever experienced, harder even than the journey from Lindon. Don't assume you know what is in my mind, Veassen. And Linwë, don't think those ideas never crossed my mind. They did."

The other Elflings shared uncomfortable glances at the end of his furious tirade, silent as they contemplated the words spoken in anger and frustration. It was Veassen who moved first, rising from his place on the bed to approach Thranduil with a doubtful expression upon his face. "When you did not contact us, we were confused and hurt. It felt as though our friendship with you meant nothing, as though we were not good enough for you."

"That is not true," the golden haired child sighed. "You try being the heir to a throne for one day. I don't think you would enjoy it."

"You do not feel like a Prince from the stories?" Linwë asked, interest colouring his voice.

"Do you think it will become worse?" Veassen pressed. "After all, you are not yet even crowned and you seem to dislike the position already."

"I think the stories lie and that it could be a lonely existence, to answer both questions," Thranduil admitted quietly. "That is the reason behind my coming here today of all days; I don't want to be lonely, and I am not foolish enough to know that my life will be as it once was. Already my mother and father are changing, and I spend more time alone or with minders than with them or friends. I just wanted to promise you, and to have you promise me, that we will not be different. I want us to be the same."

"How can we?" Linwë murmured. "You are to become a Prince."

The royal Elfling shook his blond head at the words, as though they had already condemned him and decided his fate. "But that is not all I am. I can still be me. I can still be your friend. Can't I?"

"Would it not be frowned upon?"

"No," Thranduil declared heatedly. "I swear that I will not allow my title to come between us and ruin what we have...what we had. Or is it still there, our friendship?"

Sharing a glance with the quietly contemplating Veassen, Linwë took a step forwards and placed both hands on either side of the younger child's shoulders, directing his gaze upwards. "Don't be foolish, it does not suit you. Of course our friendship still stands. Somebody needs to remind you of your true identity and keep you from becoming a stuck up, arrogant and insufferable Prince. Who else will do that if not your closest friends? You have your promise: we will be the same. Always."

"Thank you..."

"Besides, two Elves make a poor trio," Veassen contributed with a smile. "We need you."

"Things may change, but whatever I become, it will never be what you said," Thranduil grimaced. "Stuck up and arrogant and the rest of it. That is not me."

"Good, so you will not mind," Linwë began slyly, "if we do...this?"

As his friends launched themselves forwards and tackled him to the ground as though it was just another day of games, the golden haired boy rolled out from underneath them, backing away on his knees with his hands held out. "No, no! Not yet. These are my coronation clothes, and I'll be in enough trouble as it is if my mother and father find out I have been away from the palace. They might banish me if I arrive at the crowning with a tear in my tunic. Or lock me away. I suppose they can do that now."

"There are dungeons at the palace?" Veassen breathed.

"No, I don't think so. They are more like... Just rooms, I think, for criminals and wrongdoers. The Elders said that they are never used, though," Thranduil shrugged. "It gives my parents something new to threaten me with."

Linwë gave a flash of teeth as he grinned. "And it gives us wonderful games of hide and seek, although I dare say you have found every hiding place imaginable by now."

"I left a few for you," Thranduil returned. "Two or three."

As he got up and brushed dust from his clothes, accepting good natured pushing from the other boys, the door swung open with a soft creak and a handsome Elf with braided hair the shade of chestnuts began to stride into the room. He stopped in his tracks in an instant, and the words he had been about to speak fell dead on his lips. There was only silence, punctuated by the expressions of guilt worn openly upon three youthful faces. This immortal was the older brother of Linwë, the one to whom the task of raising him had fallen after the tragic deaths of their mother and father some years ago at the hands of Orcs; and whilst Veryatur doted upon his young sibling, especially so after their sister had sailed to Valinor so recently that the pain of her loss was yet raw, he could be a hard and strict guardian when he wished to. Judging by the fury flickering over his fair features, it was clear that time was now.

"Of all the children to stow away in our house," he ground out, "you had to choose the heir to the throne."

"Um... Well, I didn't..." Linwë's pathetic defence ended before it truly began, and he gave a reluctant sigh of surrender beneath his brother's narrowed eyes. "I am sorry."

"I hope you are," Veryatur snapped.

Before the siblings could break out into an inevitable row, Thranduil stepped forwards swiftly to halt further angry words. "It was my fault, sir. I came from the palace myself and knocked on the window, and Linwë only let me in because I wanted to speak with him and Veassen of an important matter. He even said I should have used the front door, and that should show you he is not at fault. Please do not blame him. And besides, I am not the heir to the throne until my father takes the crown, so at the moment I am just like any other Elf."

"Very well," the older immortal replied dryly. "But you become the heir to the throne in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?"

"Fourteen now," Veryatur corrected. "And unless you wish to be standing here when that number changes to thirteen, you had best start running. Now!"

Although he took a second to throw his friends a smile, Thranduil was swift to turn on his heel and gladly take the advice given to him. Making use of the door rather than Linwë's window this time, he went with all haste from the wooden house and through the empty settlement, back along the winding forest path as though the wings of a soaring eagle had been lent to his feet. He received a far greater number of strange looks cast sideways by the Elves he sped past than he had on his journey away from the palace, but he dared not slow lest he arrive in poor time. _This is hardly the most perfect timing as it is_, he told himself sharply. _But you had to go through with your bright idea and leave less than an hour before the coronation, the most important day in your family's history. Well done. _His silent words were reproving, but they were not enough to halt the warmth which spread through him at the knowledge that his closest friends were still just the same. That reassurance had surely been worth the risk.

Creeping past a pair of green liveried guards at the palace gates, the child kept his head low in what he felt sure was a futile attempt to avoid being seen by the waiting congregation as he slipped through their midst. Golden hair was a rarity amongst the Wood-elves, and his sunny locks coupled with the cornflower blue of his eyes was enough to announce his identity without the aid of any trumpets and banners. He prayed desperately that his return would be as successful as his escape, and inaudibly thanked the Valar when questions arose only after he was well past the enquirers; nevertheless, one obstacle yet remained before him, and he knew that this final barrier was always going to be the most difficult. Perhaps inevitably, waiting in the entrance hall was a group of immortals he knew to be the Circle of Elders, along with silently impassive guards and the two Elves he dreaded laying eyes upon.

The voices which reached Thranduil's ears as he regarded the scene from behind a pillar were hushed, but his sensitive hearing picked up the quietly angry inflections with ease. He had to grimace. There was no doubt in his mind as to the subject of his mother and father's heated discussion; nor was there any doubt as to what he had to do. Drawing a breath, he stepped out from his hiding place and into full view. "Here I am." His soft announcement was met with many pairs of eyes, and he cast his own downwards rather than decide which to focus upon.

Silence hung in the hall until Felith glided forwards and placed both hands upon his shoulders, guiding him away from the other Elves with a touch he realised was firmer than it had been before the drastic changes in their lives. He wondered silently if she truly was different, or if she just felt she had to act so because of her new position in the forest. A floor length gown of silken green rustled as his mother walked, and silver piping along the wide sleeves and slim waist sparkled without aid from any light. Thranduil supposed she looked quite beautiful, with her waist length hair worn in intricate braids around her face and a crystalline pendant upon a silver chain hanging from her elegant neck, although he would not pretend to know anything of feminine allure. Such discoveries were yet some years away for he and his friends.

"You know what day it is," she said quietly. It was not a question. "The coronation is minutes away, child, _minutes_."

"I was...distracted," Thranduil began.

"That will not excuse you in your father's eyes," Felith assured him.

Biting on his lower lip, the boy looked away from the waves of disappointment washing across his mother's face, and waited for the swishing robes of dark green in the corner of his vision to come closer. They arrived sooner than he would have liked, but there was nothing for it than to raise his gaze and meet the cold emerald one above him. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I thought there was more time, and I didn't realise how quickly it went."

"I care not," Oropher hissed. "You left the palace, didn't you? Left the grounds themselves, if the guards speak truly."

"I-

"Where were you?"

"He was with me."

Thranduil's eyes snapped towards the sweetly musical voice, and he had to force his expression into corroborating impassiveness as a deceptively youthful looking lady appeared in the hall. Mithril hair hung in loose waves to her waist, framing a heart shaped face above a gown of blue slashed with silver, and her similarly coloured eyes were wide as she approached the family with silent steps. The only member of the revered Circle of Elders to possess an iota of innocence, her gentle manner endeared her to the young of the forest, and it was to her side they ran when troubles overcame them and their own parents were unavailable to offer comfort and reassurance. Indeed, the silken shawl around her shoulders was said to exist purely for the purpose of enveloping children in warm embraces. She pulled it tighter around herself, and smiled at the Elfling before turning a less friendly gaze upon his mother and father.

"My Lord, my Lady, I fear you are hard on him. Your son was with me," she repeated.

"Away from the place he should have been, Elder Nithaniel," Oropher countered, shooting his child a razor sharp glance. "He left the palace."

"Would you have him suffer, my Lord?" Nithaniel questioned.

"Suffer?" Felith repeated immediately, before her husband could reply. "Of what do you speak?"

The very same thought was in Thranduil's mind, but he remained dutifully silent as he waited to hear if this defence would be enough for his father. He chanced a flick of his eyes in Oropher's direction, but the dark haired Elf gave nothing away in his manner or expression. _'Please believe what she says...whatever it may be.'_

"As you said yourself, Lady Felith, there are but minutes before the coronation. I would not expect any child in your son's position to know that and feel anything but trepidation in his heart. Since leaving your home and the life you knew in the forest, both you and my Lord Oropher have become, through no fault of your own, somewhat negligent." Nithaniel hesitated, and tilted her head to one side to regard the listening immortals. "Forgive my words, but Thranduil has been lonely and without a close confidante. He needed someone to ease his worries. I hope you will not fault him his apprehension and understandable fear."

As she realised that the Elder's words of suffering had not been literal, Felith released a quiet breath of relief and nodded her concurrence. "You speak the truth, of course you do. It is a strange time for all of us, but no doubt our son especially."

"It would seem I was hasty with my words, and leapt to a false conclusion," Oropher admitted softly. He inclined his head to Nithaniel in thanks, before leaning down to level his green eyes with Thranduil's blue. "I was wrong to let myself become angry. I was worried for you, but also I cannot have anything go wrong on this day of all days. Imagine the heir to the throne arriving late for the coronation. That would surely not sit well with our people. Do you think it would be the best beginning to our rule in Greenwood?" Without waiting for an answer, he let his hand alight briefly upon the child's slender shoulder. "The next time you have worries, come to us. Not a stranger."

Thranduil glanced at Elder Nithaniel lest she was in hearing range and had caught the words. He would have to remember to thank her for aiding his escape from trouble. "I will," he muttered. _If you will make time to listen._

"You shall be just fine," Felith soothed.

"There is nothing to fear, although I do understand your nerves," Oropher added as he and his wife guided their son towards the closed double doors which opened onto a courtyard filled to the brim with Elves. Around them, guards were already leaving to take their places outside, and the Circle of Elders preparing to stand before the people of Greenwood. "At least you have no speeches to make. All you have to do is remember what you have been told to do, unless you wish to take an extra responsibility."

"Standing is enough for me," Thranduil replied quickly.

From somewhere outside, the tenor sound of a horn cut its way through the morning air, and silence fell in the forest at the musical announcement. Elves held their breath in excited anticipation, some shifting restlessly as they waited for their first glimpse of the family who would become royalty before their very eyes, others lifting children from the ground for a better view. Even the birds high up in the trees stopped their song as the pair of palace doors opened inward on inaudible hinges, revealing two regal immortals garbed in ceremonial robes of woodland hues and a younger individual who stood no taller than his father's waist. It was the child who moved first, drawing a breath which raised his shoulders and walking slowly down the steps into the courtyard, as had been explained to him in the rehearsed coronation the previous evening.

Then, there had been no spectators, no eyes fixed intently and unwaveringly upon him. Thranduil stared straight ahead at the specially erected platform of wood and the flowers bedecking it that had been wrapped around the dais and entwined to create a subtle and natural beauty with which to crown the new monarchs, but even focusing his attention so determinedly did not distract from the vast number of Elves on either side of him. Walking through the courtyard and noting absently that it had not seemed so torturously long last night, he had to fight hard in order to resist looking over his shoulder. Of all the many complications he had lain awake thinking of, finding himself alone in a great sea of souls had been one of the foremost in his mind.

No sooner had the thought flickered through his head than a hand touched gently upon his lower back, giving him silent directions he was already well aware of. They had reached the raised coronation area, and he was to stand to one side as his mother and father took their vows of fealty to the forest. He obeyed the instruction, climbing the wooden steps and choosing a place behind a wall of yellow flowers, which he hoped would serve the purpose of concealing him from the crowd's sight without making his intentions blindingly clear. From the corner of his eye and through a break in the entwined flora, he caught two young Elves his own age pushing through the waves of onlookers to be closer to the front. He hid a smile as Linwë dug a taller boy in the ribs and scowled his way past the arm which had held both he and Veassen back. Thranduil's nerves dissipated slightly at the sight of his friends, though it really was no more than slightly.

The Circle of Elders stood together in a line to the rear of the platform, regarding Oropher and Felith with unreadable faces and eyes which shone with natural Elven light. The wisdom in those pools gave away their ages where smooth skin and infallible grace and agility did not; and from their midst stepped a woman, the most revered individual in their group, for it was she who above all others shared a holy connection with the Valar. Akin to a priestess, Aermanis presided over all manner of ceremonies such as the bonding of lovers, burials and childbirth celebrations, thus it was only fitting that she blessed this one with her presence. Hair the shade of ebony she wore loose and capped with a net of crystals to keep the thick locks from touching her evening blue eyes, and her dove white gown was sleek and noiseless as it trailed far behind her upon the dais. Though tall and shaped with perfect femininity, the Elven lady was striking to look upon.

She came to a smooth halt before the soon to be monarchs, and cast her gaze over the waiting congregation before lowering it to look upon them. "You know why you are here, chosen ones," she intoned quietly. "To take the crown of Greenwood the Great and wear it as her rulers, as decreed by those who have stood in the forest for millennia longer than any immortal. The trees have brought you to this moment in time, but I must ask your permission to go further. Will you grant me that or turn away from this path?"

Without turning his head, Oropher glanced at his wife standing silently at his side, then to their son some short distance away. He nodded briefly. "I hold to my decision."

"Very well." Aermanis locked her eyes upon his, trapping and holding the green orbs as though with a snare. "Will you dedicate your heart and soul to the forest and the people, putting them before yourself, forsaking your own needs and desires? Can we trust and have faith that you will defend us against any enemy, fight for us and lay your life on the line to protect those who look to you as King? In times of difficulty, strife and hardship, it must be you who breaks down all obstacles and rescues the kingdom from destruction. You must support us, provide for us and love us as we love you. You must leave your old life behind you and become a new entity altogether. You must walk through any fire with your head held high, strong and resilient. Can you give your word that you will repay those who chose you for this position with all I have said?"

During the speech, the dark haired Sinda had paled somewhat, but he ground his teeth together and regained his composure with commendable haste. "You have my word, Elder Aermanis," he murmured. "I will do and be all that I must."

As though he had not spoken, Aermanis' evenstar eyes turned towards Felith. The younger woman met her gaze evenly. "As the Queen of Greenwood, the task of standing at your husband's side through flame and darkness falls upon you. It will become your lot in life to help him shine as a beacon of hope and love to the people of this forest, and aid him in his rule. For your child, you must raise him to be the very best he can, and turn him into an heir worthy of taking the throne and ruling where his father did before. In the absence of both your husband and son, you must take on the duties of a ruler and sit upon the throne until a King returns. At that moment of solitary rule, every bind I have laid upon Oropher ties you too. You must fight for us. You must provide for us, defend, support and love us with every fibre of your being. Can you give your word that you will repay those who chose you for this position with all I have said?"

"I..." The identical question coupled with so many requirements caught Felith off guard, and she bowed her golden head with an exhalation to calm herself. When she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper. "Yes. You have my word."

Aermanis nodded in satisfaction, and one of her colleagues came forwards from the line of Elders to stand at her side, as though her brief inclination had been a signal. He was Feredir, a chief hunter with hair of such a russet shade it was just an inch away from red, and eyes a fervent jade. Garbed in tunic and leggings of green and brown, he was the only immortal present upon the dais, save two guards, to wear a knife at his waist, but the scabbard was devoid of any weapon. Cupped in one strong hand was a carved bowl containing a deep and viscous liquid; the other held his dagger, his fingers light and expert as he raised the blade and awaited further progression of his role.

"Held within this vessel is the blood of a stag, slain early this morn as sacrifice to the forest. Your blood," Aermanis explained, taking Oropher's hand and nodding again, "will mingle with his and be buried beneath the trees to seal your vows of fealty. You will be one with the forest as none other is. So will it be for your wife if she must rule in your stead, so will it be for your son if ever he takes the throne, and so will it be for his children after him."

In his peripheral vision, Oropher could see Thranduil's eyes close as Feredir stepped closer and made a quick incision across the palm of his hand. Though not deep it stung like fire, and he could not help casting the Elder a baleful look. "So will it be," he muttered in concurrence.

As droplets of Elven blood were shook into the bowl from the tip of the blade, the two Sindar knelt on the dais for the final act of the crowning, the one part which would directly involve their son. He came away from his place at the side of the platform and dropped to his knees between his mother and father, gaze fastened steadily upon the wooden floor. He had known all along that blood would be spilt, but that did not make the childish urge to comfort Oropher any easier to bear. Biting hard on his lower lip, Thranduil tried to focus his attentions. There was not much left to the ceremony, then it would all be over and he could... What _could _he do with the weight of a new title before his name? When the crowns finally touched their heads, would things change even more or- Just_ concentrate! _He berated himself sharply. _Just for __a few minutes longer_

Three Elves bearing the items which would mark the family as royalty came forth at a signal from Aermanis, and stood silently by as she took first of all two near identical headbands of entwined silver vines and leaves and placed them with reverence upon the respectively dark and golden heads of the sovereigns. The only difference between the similarly wrought crowns was a stone of lapis set in the centre of scrollwork which rested lightly upon Felith's forehead, a subtle feminine touch to compliment the shade of her eyes. A smaller circlet had been commissioned for Thranduil of the same silver but made with a less intricate design, for which he was secretly thankful. A few simple knots and looped silverwork was quite enough for his liking. Even so, as the strange device touched him, he almost raised a hand to feel it before catching himself just in time.

"It is done," Aermanis said quietly.

The Sindarin Elves rose from their places upon the dais, and turned away from the Elder to face outwards. Hundreds of eyes were upon them, watching, waiting, wondering what would happen now. It was a deep breath indeed that Oropher drew to calm himself before addressing the people of Greenwood for the first time as their chosen King. He had spent hours the previous night lying awake, wandering through the palace or standing alone on his balcony trying to write in his mind a suitable oration. Of all the words he would ever speak during his rule, he knew that these first ones were the most important. They had to be the best, there was no half way mark he could stop at in the hope it would be enough to satisfy the Silvan folk. They had put their faith in him, and he owed them a speech worthy of that allegiance.

"For time uncountable before this moment, I prayed to the Valar that they give me the strength and wisdom to swear my oaths with only honesty in my heart. I wished for no fear, no doubt that I was stepping onto a wrong path, but I tell you now that such feelings have existed within me these past days," he began, his clear voice ringing in the courtyard. Those who listened did so in deathly silence, their bright gazes fixed intently upon him. "My mind swayed countless times; less than an hour back, still it changed as regularly as waves upon the shore. This was until the doors of the palace opened and I looked out upon you, my people. I found myself consumed by love and a desire to prove that your infallible trust in me was not poorly placed. I realised then that I needed no help from the Valar, I never have done. All I needed was to see your faces. That was enough, and I knew in a second that your support and unification were uplifting me when prayers had not come close.

"The ceremony you have witnessed today will stand in the memories of each and every one of you for many years to come as the first such commemoration in the history of your home. I hope that at its side will be my rule, for I promise to be deserving of your trust, your faith and your love throughout my life and with all of my heart. My experience in wearing a crown is little. Indeed, it is none, but my vows of fealty to the forest of Greenwood the Great will hold for all the years to come. They will stand strong in me, my wife, my son and his children and his children's children. I say this to you as your friend, your brother, a fellow Elf. I say it more than anything, as your King."

Cheers and applause erupted throughout the vast courtyard at his final words, the sudden impact of noise sending nearby birds wheeling into the air. As cries of "Hail, King Oropher!" resounded loud and clear, Thranduil's wide eyes turned towards his father. He had raised one disdainful eyebrow at the mention of his future children, but all thoughts were pushed well away by the crowd's tremendous reaction. He had been told to expect some clapping and perhaps a few catcalls from the younger Elves; he had been told how to take such a reception, but this went far and beyond what he had been waiting for. Chancing a glance at Felith, he was pleased to see she seemed just as breath taken as he by the force of her husband's words and the euphoria they had evoked in the people of Greenwood. One thing was for certain: Oropher's worry that he would fail to meet expectations had been for nothing.

As the crowned immortals left the platform and began their walk back to the palace, the crowd's loud cheering slowly died down into reverent silence and they watched their new sovereigns with smiles worn openly on their faces. Some handed single flowers to Felith until it was a bouquet in her hands, which she accepted and paused briefly to give gracious thanks for; most reached out to touch the royal shoulders or hands, but all knelt upon the paved ground with bowed heads sooner or later, united in their love and trust for three Elves who just a matter of weeks back had been no different than any other Elven family. It was the start of something new, something beautiful, and the people's adoration would stand the test of time and remain unwaveringly strong through all manner of trials for thousands of years to come, though that was something Oropher, Felith and Thranduil could not know as they stepped into their home for the first time as the Royal Family of Greenwood the Great.

**To be continued...**


	3. The Reunion

**Chapter ****3**

Set upon a mahogany coloured table in a private family dining room were plates of cured meats and freshly baked breads, fruits and vegetables taken from the forest plantations, sweet cakes for dessert along with pitchers of cool wine and cordial. Although the table held room enough for seven or eight individuals, just three chairs were placed at intervals around its rectangular shape. Of those three, only two were occupied. As it had been nearly every night since the crowning of Greenwood's first royal family a few days under a month back, King Oropher was late for the evening meal, a fact which did not sit well with his wife. She was silent, tapping her fingers rhythmically against the stem of her goblet as she waited, lips pressed together in a thin line and bright blue eyes flickering in a manner which heralded disaster for the victim of her wrath. She had warned her constantly busy husband that there were only so many hours in one day for a reason, but it seemed he had paid no heed to her words and was taking advantage of the evening to continue his work.

Seated directly opposite Queen Felith was her only child, the Crown Prince and heir to the throne. Thranduil fiddled absently with the hem of his tunic underneath the table and out of sight from his irritated mother's gaze, letting his own azure eyes drift towards a timepiece on the wall every few minutes. Twenty had gone by at a painfully slow pace since he had entered the dining room, eighteen or so since his father had been due. Although punctuality had always been important in their family, it had become even more so now that they were royalty and could not be seen to have imperfections. As such, the blond haired child always made a point of arriving just before his parents to avoid trouble. And whilst he was more than glad he would not be the one facing an irate lady's anger this night, he felt no sympathy for the one who would. If Oropher was content to make rules and regulations, he of all Elves should find them the easiest to abide by.

"Nana," Thranduil began hesitantly. "Do you think I should go and find him-?

"Stay where you are."

_I did not move an inch. _"Alright."

Felith sighed and leaned forwards to rest her arms on the table, another action which was not condoned for royalty. It was almost as though she was purposefully defying her husband's rules in his absence. "I am not angry with you, just frustrated with your father. I would expect tardiness from a child of your age, but even you set a better example. I suppose I should not speak ill of him."

"It is true," Thranduil concurred grimly. "Last week he was so late that our meals became cold. You should say something to him, Nana."

"No, it is not truly his fault. He is still adjusting to this, we all are. He believes that he has to be the best for our people, and leaving a letter unsigned or a trading list incomplete is failing the ones who chose him as ruler. I am more than aware it is not so, I am sure you see it is not so; telling your father it is not so does nothing to change his ideas." Felith's golden head shook, and she offered her son a small smile. "Start eating, penneth. It is unfair to keep you waiting, and you know that were the situation different and you were the one not on time, you would be forbidden from eating with us."

"I thought starting a meal with not everyone present was incorrect etiquette and against protocol," Thranduil said, confusion lacing his voice. _How will I ever learn to be a Prince if Ada tells me one thing but you have me do another? He will come in to see me eating and will be angry, but it won't be my fault because-_

The door opened to admit the Elf occupying his thoughts, and a barely audible breath of relief that he had been saved from trouble left his lips as he rose briefly from his chair to acknowledge his father and King's arrival. That was something he had never had to do before being crowned as royalty, and it was another amendment to his life not very much enjoyed by him. Oropher nodded and took a seat at the head of the table, seemingly oblivious to the controversy he had caused within his small family until Felith poured wine and placed the goblet before him with more force than was necessary. He let his eyes rest on the turbulent liquid before moving them to his wife's fair face. They rested there for a moment as he considered, then lifted slightly to regard the timepiece upon the wall. Realisation must have dawned, for he sighed and held up his hands as though to defend himself.

"I can explain-

"We will speak of this later," Felith broke in coolly. "Alone."

"Very well, but know that I did not do this to anger you. I truly thought there was yet time before dinner was served," Oropher said. His cover was met with stony silence, and he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Alright, it shall be as you wish; we will speak later."

As his father gestured that they should begin the meal, Thranduil cast him a sideways look. "You must have been very busy, Ada. Did you finish everything that you needed to?"

"Just about. I remember reading stories of Kings and Queens when I was a child, wishing that I could be like them and have servants, courtiers. Of course, the books on my shelf never detailed the immense stacks of paperwork, appointments with people of the realm and meetings with advisors and ambassadors from other countries," Oropher answered. "You are fortunate in that you will go through the appropriate diplomatic training to prepare yourself for ruling a country. You will know what to expect, whereas I must learn as I go."

"May we refrain from discussing matters of state at the table," Felith requested quietly.

The dark haired Elf looked up, and nodded acquiescence. "Of course, you are right. Tell me what you did today, ion-nín."

"Nothing very exciting. I saw Linwë and Veassen for a while this afternoon, but they have lessons now so I don't have much of a chance to be with them during the daytime," Thranduil recounted. "I practiced my tree climbing, and only fell twice. I think I'm improving, but my skills do not come close to matching those of the Wood-elves. And after that I went to the new archery fields to watch the novices train. The weapon masters work them hard, far harder than they do us in our archery and sword practices. I do not much look forward to becoming a novice if that is how a warrior is made."

"You have a few years left before that moment," Felith assured her son. "Unfortunately, there is less time before you begin your own lessons, as your friends have already done. How are they finding them?"

"They don't enjoy learning and having to do work, but I don't think they really mind. Linwë finds it more difficult because he is growing up without his parents and his brother often does not have the time to help him, whereas Veassen has a mother and father and two older sisters to ask if he does not understand," Thranduil said slowly. "I think _I_ would enjoy learning if I could study with my friends and have the same teacher."

In the middle of lifting his goblet of wine, Oropher placed it back on the table and levelled the child with a green gaze. "We have discussed this. You cannot attend communal lessons. As a Prince, you will have a private tutor who gives you lessons not only in language, numbers, history and the other subjects your friends study, but also politics, lore and the diplomatic training I mentioned previously. A communal teacher cannot work with a class if one student has so many additional requirements. It would be impossible."

"I know," Thranduil sighed.

Felith's lips turned upwards at the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. "You complain now, but I know you will not find it to be as awful as you currently believe. We will soon begin the process of choosing a suitable tutor for you, and you will have some say in the matter."

"Not too much, or one will never be chosen," Oropher murmured.

The young Elf's eyes flickered slightly at his father's comment, but he did not rise to the bait and give a retort that would surely land him in trouble. Instead he speared a piece of cured ham with his fork, directing his inaudible irritation there instead as the older immortals held quiet conversation about various tutors and the studies he would undertake. He paid no heed to the conversation now that he had been turned out of it. He really was not daunted by the prospect of lessons as he knew Linwë and Veassen had been; above all else he wished for the chance to have an aspect of normalcy in his life. He learnt the art of archery and wooden swordplay away from the palace with his friends and other youths their age, but even then he was treated like a delicate flower just because he was the Prince and nobody wanted to be guilty of doing him harm. Sometimes he secretly desired that someone would hurt him, just so they could finally see that he would not break into a hundred shattered pieces. It was a strange thing to want, but the constant belief that he was special enough to be treated so differently grated on the child's nerves.

During his musings there had come a knock upon the door, although so caught up in reflections had he been, he did not realise until his father granted entry to whoever had disturbed their meal. There was another rule. When the Royal Family were dining privately in their own wing of the palace, they were not to be interrupted. So it was with mild interest that Thranduil looked up to watch the scene play out, silently wondering what was so very important that the newcomer, a Silvan Elf in the green livery of the serving staff, could not wait half an hour to say.

"Your Highnesses, I ask that you forgive my intrusion at this hour," he began.

"Perhaps you can explain it," Oropher said quietly.

"Two Elves have arrived at the palace, and they request an audience." The member of serving staff must have known the response his words would evoke, for he winced slightly as he spoke. "They would have...an immediate audience."

Felith's golden head shook vehemently moments before her husband opened his mouth to reply. "Immediate? They wish to see him now? That is not the way appointments are made. These Elves must arrange a suitable time with the King's aide rather than disturb a family meal, one which he arrived twenty minutes late for due to other meetings, I might add. No, Hirilas. Unless it is a matter of life and death, I fear my husband cannot speak with them tonight."

"They are most persistent, my Queen," Hirilas said quietly.

"That is as may be," Felith replied, her tone one of pure exasperation.

"Did they give names?" Oropher questioned. "Meleth-nín, it must be something of great importance they need me for to arrive at the palace so late."

Hirilas' russet head bowed slightly in response to the words. "So it would seem, my Lord, although they will divulge nothing. Their request is a strange one indeed, for they have asked to stand not just before yourself but also the Queen and Crown Prince. Would you have them return in the morning?"

"Ada, if High King Gil-galad had not granted you admittance into his chambers when he did in Lindon, perhaps we would not be here now," Thranduil pointed out softly. All he really wanted was to see the waiting Elves and know what was so desperate. "Perhaps we should go. And if they haven't said what it is about, maybe it really is a matter of life and death."

"I am sure it is not," Oropher said. "But, you do speak some truth. Come."

As her husband and son rose from the table and left the dining room, Felith's blue eyes moved towards the ceiling in frustration, but there was nothing she could do except push her own chair back and follow in their footsteps with as much calm in her stride as she could muster. The hapless individuals who had the nerve to pull even her young child from his evening meal would have some explaining to do, although she knew full well that the King's presence dictated she hold her peace in such a circumstance, that he would be the one to speak. Had she been alone, she would have delivered a tongue lashing to match one of Oropher's sharpest. As it was, she would have to contend with a winter cool glare.

The angry thoughts circulating through her mind were banished in the very instant the Royal Family rounded a marble walled corner and arrived in the vast entrance hall at the front of the palace. Two Elves with braided hair dark enough to be called black stood together in the centre of the round area, their stances seemingly defensive as they waited with arms folded over their chests and green eyes narrowed to cold slits. They were similar in appearance, possibly father and son, and both wore stained travelling cloaks over their shoulders. Upon glimpsing Oropher for the first time they visibly started, but neither made any other move. Indeed, their gazes hardened somewhat and they regarded the ruler in silence, waiting for him to approach them. In any other visitor to the royal home, such mannerisms would surely be considered insolent. In these, their audacity was barely noticed by the King and his family.

He stepped forwards with a breath of shock, resting one hand on the father's shoulder and the other on the son's smooth cheek. "Valar, how can this be?" he murmured. "I thought you would send word when you left Lindon. I was not expecting either of you for... Well, certainly not this soon. You have been travelling hundreds of leagues and I never knew. Sweet Elbereth, if anything had happened..."

"Our journey was uneventful for the most part," the taller of the two newcomers replied quietly. He was Vehiron, the younger brother of Greenwood's new ruler, and he had stayed behind in Gil-galad's kingdom to arrange the family's affairs whilst his sibling led a small group of Sindarin Elves to their new beginning in Arda's greatest forest. "Judging by the drama wrought in your life, I assume the same cannot be said for yours."

At the frosty words, Oropher's brow furrowed in confusion. "It was...memorable, I suppose. Is all well? You do not seem to be yourself."

"I am not myself? Valar, less true words have never been spoken. If I and my son are cool towards you and your family, it is because _you _are not_ your_selves," Vehiron said, his voice short. "The last we were together, everything was normal. The three of you were just Elves, just normal... We were equals, all of us. Now I do not know if I should bow to you or kneel upon the floor. It has been months, and all I want is to embrace my brother, but is that forbidden? Is it against royal protocol? We have been detained in this hall for the last fifteen minutes because the royals 'cannot be disturbed'. We would have been sent away if not for my persistence that we see you. And you wonder why I do not throw myself at you in greeting?"

"I am sorry for that, but had I known it was you..." Releasing a long sigh, the dark haired ruler leaned forwards and pulled the younger Elf to him. "You speak folly. Things have not changed so much that I cannot embrace a loved one after months apart. That goes for you too, Saeldur."

As Oropher hugged his nephew close, Felith and Thranduil came forwards to greet their newly arrived family members. Vehiron kissed the Elf-queen's porcelain cheek before lifting his own nephew up into strong arms and tousling his blond hair, an action which was met with good natured protests from the victim in question. Immortals passing through the entrance hall on various matters and business averted their eyes from the happy moment to give the reunited relatives the privacy they deserved, although smiles were shared at the infectious laughter and joy that warmed the hearts of those who stood witness. After the initial minutes of shocked euphoria had vanished, the King of Greenwood led his kin away from the front of the palace and back towards the private wing lived in by the royals. There was much to speak of, and conversation after so long was best held in comfort with an open bottle of wine.

Someone must have anticipated the family's arrival, for the lounge area they entered into was ready and prepared with the balcony doors thrown open and drinking vessels laid out upon a marble table overlooking the great forest of Greenwood. Both Vehiron and Saeldur let out appreciative breaths at the views given to them from such a height, and indeed it was a spectacular sight. With blood red rays cast across a purple sky the tips of the trees were stained in unnatural shades of a dusky nature for miles around, and flocks of woodland birds soared in the shadows of the sun. Even Oropher took a moment to gaze at a scene he knew he would never become weary of.

"It is beautiful," his brother murmured.

"Yes, quite a treat for the eye," Felith smiled. "Before anything else, I propose that the pair of you take a wash and change your attire. You must be eager to be out of your travelling clothes. I shall go to the kitchens and ready some food for you."

"I take it you have not neglected your cooking," Vehiron observed.

"Wild wolves could not keep her from it," Oropher replied quietly.

The fair Elven lady cast a fond look in his direction, her earlier irritation at his late hours clearly forgotten, and gave a brief nod of concurrence. "That is quite true, meleth-nín. Now, rooms must be arranged whilst you are washing. For tonight you shall have sleeping chambers to rest in, but tomorrow I shall see it done that you have your own apartments as befitting members of the Royal Family. Vehiron, come with me and I will find an adequate room. Saeldur, your cousin will show you to yours. Take him to the large one three doors down from here, ion-nín."

"Nana, perhaps they will not stay," Thranduil began, his voice hesitant and hushed. "Perhaps they don't want what we have."

"You must remember that we were loath to take these positions of power when first they were offered to us," Oropher continued softly. "It may be that Vehiron and Saeldur do not wish for titles, palace life and royal responsibilities. That is something they will have to take away with them and think over, just as we did."

Felith was still, silent as she considered her husband's words and the truth that lay behind them. "Yes. Yes, of course. Forgive me, I did not think. It just... You know their blood ties to us mean their paths have changed now. No doubt they expected to arrive in Greenwood and settle in a small home in the forest where they would live peacefully. I wonder if, had they known what awaited them, they would have remained in Lindon or taken another course."

"We can discuss this at a later time," Vehiron said with a small smile to ease his sister-in-law's evident worry. "For now, all I wish is to discard my dirtied clothing and have a warm wash. Will you show me my room?"

"Of course I will," Felith murmured. "Thranduil, take your cousin."

Catching his dark haired relative's eye, the Crown Prince nodded quiet assent and led the way from the lounge area a short distance down the corridor. He said nothing as they walked, fully conscious of the fact that Saeldur had been stonily silent ever since arriving in the palace. Even his embrace in the entrance hall had been cold, almost forced. The two shared a strange relationship. They always had done, and it did not seem as though anything had changed since the last time they were together. For years the older of the two had been an only child in a family of adults, and then Felith had given birth to an infant who had immediately stolen the attention and adoration. Thranduil's arrival in the world had let loose in Saeldur a maelstrom of different emotions; envy of the youth and innocence lost to him, dislike of the child watching duties he often became burdened with, resentment for the trouble he would find himself landed in after trying to look after his young cousin. There was no doubt he loved the boy in a fashion, but his like for him was questionable.

"There should be towels in the washroom," the royal child said softly. "Ada lets me use this as a guest room when my friends stay here at night."

Saeldur gave a curt nod, and turned away to look out of the window. "Thank you."

"Right... Well, I shall just leave. If you need anything..." Thranduil shifted slightly, inaudibly wishing that he did not have to address his cousin's back. "Do you?"

"What?"

"Need anything."

"No."

"I will see you back in the lounge, then." As the boy turned towards the door, he hesitated with his hand just an inch above the handle and glanced over his shoulder. "I am glad you have finally come."

His words were met with continued silence, but a warm reply was the very last thing he had expected. Although he was loyal to Saeldur and loved him very much, he had accepted without reason a long time ago that his devotion would never be appreciated or returned. The older Elf struggled with emotions that were not negative ones almost as though he did not know how to feel them, something which stemmed from a lack of maternal love to guide him through childhood and adolescence. His father had become strict and a harsh disciplinarian after the death of his mother, and that too was a point of great resentment for him. Perhaps behind closed doors he _was_ sombre and a victim to moods of darkness, but acting skills put to good use hid the truth of his thoughts and real self from those who should know him best. The only one he felt able to be himself around was Thranduil, purely because his cousin cared too much for him to speak of his different ways in front of anyone else. And since he had witnessed those ways all his life and took them now as routine and normal, there was never any need to give explanations that would not be understood, explanations that Saeldur himself did not truly understand.

Pulling the door quietly shut behind him, Thranduil returned to the lounge area and took a seat on the balcony with his parents. The sun had set further, and he moved his chair out of shadows to catch the last warm rays. "I showed Saeldur to his room. He was not talkative, so I think he must be tired after travelling for so long."

"It will be an early night for him, then," Felith smiled. "I would not blame either of them for seeking immediate rest. We know the journey from Lindon is not an easy one, and you would have slept for days on end after our arrival in Greenwood, had you been allowed. We will leave lengthy discussions until the morning."

From over the rim of his goblet of wine, Oropher regarded his son with concern clouding the green pools of his eyes. "What worries you, child? Something preys on your mind."

"Why do you think that?" Thranduil questioned. His facade lasted no more than a few seconds before he recognised defeat and let it go. "Yes. I am happy to have Uncle Vehiron and Saeldur here after so long, but I fear that the happiness will only last a while because if they don't want to be royalty like us, they might leave again and we would hardly see them at all. They are tied to us by blood, as Nana said, and that means everything would be different if they did choose to stay and become a part of Greenwood's history. Perhaps they would resent us for doing that to them, because it was never what they wanted in the first place. Does that make sense?"

"I understand," Felith murmured, giving her son a gentle nod. "We have brought them into something that they never expected to enter."

"When I was given the choice of accepting the rule of this forest, I thought of my brother and nephew. I knew how long it would take for a message to reach them and a reply to return, and I knew too that I could not keep the people of Greenwood waiting for such a time," Oropher said quietly. "If contact had been easier I would have consulted them without a moment of hesitation, but the distance between us was too wide. I made my decision without their blessing; although that may have been selfish, part of me hoped they would be willing to stand at my side and share in the experiences and changes to come."

"Do you think they will?" Thranduil whispered.

The new King let his eyes drift off the balcony and over his darkening realm, the expression upon his fair face unreadable as he shook his head slowly. "I cannot say. That must be for them to decide."

"What would they become?" Felith wondered aloud. "We have our titles and we know the roles we play within the forest. What of theirs?"

"I do not doubt that such a matter would be spoken of with the Circle of Elders, who still hold great sway in my court, before anything conclusive was reached," Oropher relied slowly. "Perhaps they would become Lords of Greenwood. Or Regent and Vice-regent, respectively. It is too early to yet make such a decision."

"I would not be your Regent." One pair of emerald eyes and two pairs of sapphire swung towards the balcony doors as the new voice cut into their conversation. Vehiron, dressed in clean clothes and wearing damp hair tied off his face, pushed himself away from the lintel and came out to sit with his family. "It is as Felith said earlier. I left Lindon expecting to start a peaceful new life. When the rumours reached me half way through the journey, I came close to turning aside from my path and seeking a home elsewhere with Saeldur. We left Gil-galad's kingdom because it was just that: a kingdom. Greenwood was meant to be different. It was meant to be free."

"It is not oppressed," Oropher said quietly.

"No. Nor is it what we came for," Vehiron countered.

"Then, what are you saying?" Felith murmured, her eyes cast outwards over the trees as she voiced the question. "What are you _trying _to say?"

As his elders spoke, Thranduil respectfully kept himself out of the discussion, but he listened intently to all that was said and contributed silently. _'Please don't let it be what I think he's trying to say, what I fear. I want him to stay. Valar, make him stay.'_Although he had slowly become accustomed to being without his uncle and cousin present in his life, they had been sorely missed for a long time. To lose them again so swiftly would cut deeply.

"I will not be your Regent," Vehiron repeated, leaning forwards to hold his sibling's green eyes. "But I will be here. Do not think for a moment that I intend to leave Greenwood and my family so soon after arriving and being reunited with then. I will never want a claim to the throne, but that does not mean I cannot stand by you and take on whatever duties are put upon me as the King's brother. I will stand by you, Oropher. You have my support."

The words drew a breath of relief from Thranduil, and he could not help taking a step back into the conversation going on around him. "What of Saeldur? He will stay too?"

"Valar, of course he will. Half of that Elf's life has been spent buried in books and fantasy," Vehiron snorted. "He would not miss this adventure for all of Arda."

"I am glad of that, for a certain son of mine would become most distressed if his cousin were not here to share in it," Oropher said, a smile tugging at his lips. It lasted just a matter of seconds before something akin to regret flickered upon his fair face. "Listen to me, I am sorry that you were dragged into this, sorry that Saeldur too has become ensnared. If I could have spoken with you when the choices were laid at my feet..."

"You would have done." The younger brother gave a small shrug of his shoulders, dismissing the apology. "I judged you before, but I know better now. It was not an easy predicament you were in. There is no need for you to justify yourself and explain your reasoning. Cease your worrying."

Felith poured a glass of wine for her brother-in-law with the exchange of serious words finished, and Thranduil waited for the adults to settle comfortably before rising from his own chair. "I am going back to Saeldur," he informed them. "Perhaps he will be hungry. I can show him where the kitchens are. Would you like me to bring you anything whilst I am there?"

"No," Oropher said gently. "Thank you."

Watching his nephew turn to leave, pause a second before bowing his head and then go on his way again, Vehiron smiled slightly. "He is not yet accustomed to having a King and Queen for parents, no? It must have been a difficult change for him, although he seems to be doing well. He appears somewhat older than the last time I saw him, as though he has grown emotionally and become stronger, more confident in himself."

"He made some friends on our journey, for which we are more than thankful. Both are pleasant children and they have brought him forth from the shell he used to hide in, but... Sometimes his brashness and spirit is too much like it was back in our old settlement, and he has to be reminded that he is a Prince now and cannot behave as anything less. I think perhaps he forgets that at times," Oropher reflected slowly. "He has to learn more respect for his position as heir to the throne. And whilst he yearns to be just like his friends, we know that is not a possibility. The differences between them are too great, but the child will not listen to us when we tell him so. However, he has a firmer hand than ever he did before, so we hope he will learn the appropriate lessons sooner rather than later."

"He does try," Felith murmured.

"I did not say otherwise," the King interjected. "I just think perhaps he needs to try harder."

"Meleth, you do not see his efforts as clearly as anyone else. If you had the time to look..." With a soft sigh and a smile to take the edge from her words, the golden haired lady gave a slight shake of her head. "No, this is a joyous occasion. I shall not ruin it with a marital quarrel."

"Good. That saves me some bother," Oropher jested.

As the three Elves laughed and continued to drink their wine, Thranduil quietly closed the inside lounge door and walked a short way down the corridor to his cousin's room, the light blue pools of his eyes darkened by the conversation he had overheard. Felith had spoken more than truthfully. If only a few moments were spared for him every now and again, his father might just see the struggles undertaken in an attempt to be the best son and Crown Prince it was possible for him to be. As it was, if Oropher placed his workload above the development of his own child... Shrugging carelessly and spreading his hands as though to convince himself that he truly was not troubled, the Elfling raised one hand to knock on Saeldur's door. No answer came from the other side of the wooden portal, and he pushed it open with just a soft creak of the hinges to announce his presence.

The room beyond was shrouded in blackness, and only a chink in the floor length curtains let in any light from rising Ithil and the congregating stars high above. A slender shape was just visible beneath the blankets covering the bed, and although Thranduil breathed his cousin's name, nothing but silence greeted him. He reflected the situation for close to a minute before leaving the sleeping chamber and retracing his footsteps. Although it was yet early and he felt like some company, he did not greatly desire to be in his father's presence after the conversation he had heard. So it was that the young Prince of Greenwood the Great sought his own bed, curling up beneath the duvets with his eyes fully focused for hours on end, caught in a turbulent place between joy at his relatives' arrival and hurt that his efforts had gone so long unnoticed by the one Elf whose approval he had become desperate for over the last month.

As the sun drifted lazily across the sky beyond walls of stone and marble, Saeldur finished the last slice of apple he had pilfered from the palace kitchens after forsaking the invitation to break his fast with the rest of his family, and rubbed the excess juice onto his dark leggings before it could make his hands sticky. His excuse for avoiding the dining hall had been weariness carried over from the previous night, but his eyes were alert and his steps far from trudging as he walked through the corridors of the royal wing to his cousin's rooms. Although not as spacious as the apartments belonging to the King and Queen, a playroom and separate wash chamber had been given to the forest's Crown Prince. His raven haired relative took a moment to quietly investigate the private rooms, which he felt sure were large enough together than any of the wooden houses he had passed whilst travelling through Greenwood, before moving towards the bedroom and knocking once on the door.

"Thranduil, are you there? I am coming in."

"No, wait! Don't-

Saeldur arched one eyebrow as he entered just in time to see his cousin shove something under the bed pillows and sit up swiftly, a portrait of innocence as he folded his legs beneath him. "Am I disturbing something?"

"You are meant to wait until granted admittance to another Elf's room," Thranduil replied hotly. "It is against royal etiquette to just walk in unannounced. You will have to learn this if you are to become royalty. My father is furious when I... He would be furious if I did that."

"I shall remember that for the future, but I cannot help wondering what I did intrude upon. What can you possibly be doing that is such a secret you have to hide it? Don't look at me that way, I saw you push something or other underneath your pillows," Saeldur said bluntly. "Show me. You know you can trust me. I am your cousin, no?"

"That is beside the point," Thranduil muttered.

Raising his eyes towards the ceiling, the dark haired Elf perched on the edge of the bed and reached towards the pillows. A smaller hand came down atop his, holding him back. He looked at the restraint through a narrowed gaze for a moment before withdrawing and giving a disdainful sniff. "Fine, have it your own way. I suppose you can do that now. Order your elders around and dictate to them what they must and must not do. Good for you, but you have no idea how that will irritate me in the years to come."

"I only did it to stop you from..." A sharp breath rushed from Thranduil's lips, and he turned slightly to pull the concealed item from its hiding place. "It is a book. Nothing more, nothing less. Were you expecting something shocking?"

"_'History of Royalty'_" Saeldur read from the spine of the leather bound book. "What is this? I thought Greenwood has never had-

"It has not," the Crown Prince broke in quietly. "I just took this out of the library to read. It contains general accounts from royal Elves of the past, and I thought that maybe it could...help me."

"Help you?"

Thranduil's blue eyes glittered defensively at the scorn lacing the older immortal's voice, and he leaned forwards to hiss, "You need not mock me. I knew you would, I knew you would laugh. But you will see for yourself soon enough that none of it is as easy as anyone thinks. I want to be better and I want my father to stop being disappointed in my failure to adjust as swiftly as he has, so any help is welcome. If reading about other Elves who have been different can make that task easier, I will do it."

"You have the wrong book, cousin," Saeldur sighed. "This will tell you nothing. Take my word as truth. I was an apprentice to the scholars in Lindon and I undertook training with them to teach young children before the decision to leave the kingdom was made. If you wish to read accurate books, return this to the library and try instead the stories and fictional tales. More often than not they are of much more use than the factual accounts."

"Is that so?"

"Trust me."

Chewing pensively upon his lower lip, Thranduil nodded his blond head slowly. "Perhaps I will do that later today, then. Thank you." He paused at his cousin's careless shrug, and cast the dark haired Elf a sideways glance. "I remember how much you enjoyed books and spending your time amongst old scrolls and parchments, but you know that becoming a part of Greenwood's royalty means you cannot live as you used to. Your training and all that you learnt with the scholars will be for nothing, because you will have to take up weapons and become a warrior."

"I do know how to fight," Saeldur said haughtily.

"Not as the Wood-elves do. When my father took the crown, he swore to protect and defend the forest against any enemy. My mother took that same vow, as will I when I am of age. Ruling Greenwood means fighting for her safety too, so you need to be ready to join the army at any moment," Thranduil informed the other immortal. "I heard this at the dining table earlier this morning. I just thought I would pass it on to you before it comes from a higher place."

"We all must make sacrifices," the raven headed Elf murmured. He rose from his place on the bed as though to leave altogether, but he stopped in his tracks almost immediately and turned back once more. "Look, I am sorry for the way I was last night. It has been months since last we were together, and I was as cold as a block of ice. I should have made more of an effort to... Sometimes my temperament is strange. It confuses even me on occasion, but... Well, I am sorry."

Thranduil held up one hand, dismissing the apology with a small shake of his head. "Don't. I know it has been a while, but I have not forgotten who you are. Your mood sways like a pendulum and you can be close to intolerable at times. It is just you. You cannot change and I did not expect you to be any different."

The corners of Saeldur's lips turned upwards in a fleeting smile that did not quite reach the deep green pools of his eyes, and he nodded in silent thanks as he turned away to complete his intended departure. There was no doubt as to where he would be headed. The fact that duty and obligation would soon take away his carefree days spent amongst books and scrolls could not sit well with him at all, and the palace library was sure to become a private retreat until his own life turned upside down just as his cousin's had already. Watching him leave, Thranduil shook his head slowly and pulled the book he had borrowed across the bed, flicking absently through the leaves to find the page on which he had been interrupted. He was close to the end, but he would not return the book for a while yet. He had already made a silent wager with himself that it would be just days before Saeldur realised he too would need all the help he could find to avoid becoming a failure in the eyes of the King.

A soft sigh escaped the Crown Prince's lips at that detested word resounding madly in his head. _Failure._It did not seem to matter what he said or did, nothing was right, nothing was good enough for the impossibly high standards that had been set by Elves who were blind to the difficulties he faced time and time again. Although he could not believe it at that moment in time, Thranduil would meet such requirements one day, and he would rise far above them too, to become a son who made his parents proud, a husband, a father, the most beloved and strongest King to rule Greenwood the Great. But it would take experiences seen not even in his darkest nightmares to get him to that point of perfection; experiences painted in shades of pain, grief, tears and blood; experiences which would come to light in a not too distant future. Danger was coming. It was yet some distance away, but the first threads of a morbid tapestry were already being woven.

**THE END.**

_I know that this was a fairly short story, but I really only intended to be a filler before I start the main stories which will be a lot longer and much more angst-filled. I'm going on holiday to Tenerife in...__about__ an hour (!) but I wanted to get this posted before leaving. The third story will be up in about a month. Thank you to the people who have left me reviews, it means a lot. Also, as I said in the first chapter, 'To Begin __Again__' has been nominated in the category for Best Thranduil in the MPA Awards. If you enjoyed reading it, I'd really appreciate it if you could vote for me. Anyway, thank you again to everyone who has read this. See you next month. _

_Mistopurr_


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